All He Needs
by TheBatgirl31
Summary: When Erik reveals his face to Christine will she show him the love she promised or live above with Philippe? Based on the 1990 adaptation with Charles Dance.
1. Acceptance

"All He Needs"

By

TheBatgirl31

**Based on the 1990 TV version of Phantom of the Opera as portrayed by Charles Dance.**

"Please, sit down," Erik said, motioning with his hand to a spot on the blanket. The forest surrounding them was warm and the trees shrouded them in their own, special meadow which Erik had picked for their picnic. He loved watching her eyes absorb all the colors and how the dim light seemed to soak into her skin. But most of all, he loved how he could do something so simple with her, just as other men did.

_I can show her I can be like a normal man_, he thought.

Christine gave a wary smile and took a seat across from him on the blanket. Erik had stocked his basket with strawberries, lemon cakes, and vanilla scones, her favorite sweets, along with a small glass decanter of white wine for them to sip on. Erik chatted away while Christine made herself comfortable; no other sound disrupted their peace.

"Of all the places in my realm," Erik said as he sorted through the goodies in the basket, "this is the most enchanted spot, I think." He lay out the treats in front of her with a "voila" and earned a warm smile from Christine. For a moment there was silence between the two of them until he paused and looked at Christine.

"Would you sing for me," he asked, still busying himself with their lunch?

He did not notice Christine's hesitance but she could not push aside a thought that had been toying in her mind all morning.

"If you wish," she answered sweetly.

Erik gave her a gentle smile as he set two places on the blanket. "Ohh…I do…very much," he said.

Erik waited for her voice to sing his heart to a steady rhythm and clear his mind like a numbing narcotic but no song filled the silence. He paused before reaching for the decanter and his gaze met hers. Christine was more than willing to fulfill her maestro's wish but she saw an opportunity to possibly fulfill a wish of her own.

She struggled for the words and felt his eyes digging into her as he waited but she looked away, worried she might upset him.

"I'm sorry…is there something wrong," Erik asked, his hand hovering over the basket and his eyes imploring for understanding.

Christine looked at him determined as she painstakingly made her desire known.

"If I sing for you will you…will you grant me a favor," she asked softly?

"No," he said curtly, returning to his busywork and breaking their heated gaze.

Christine's heart fell. "Why not?"

The softness remained in Erik's eyes as he answered her with a chuckle.

"Because, my dear, you must sing for love and joy not for gain."

Christine returned the smile and placed her hand over his as he again reached into the basket. Erik's hands were cold to the touch but he felt his skin warming under her hand. He did not move and allowed her to trap his gaze with her eyes; the soft blue oceans that softened his temperament and sorrow even when he simply imagined them in front of him. When they were together, he felt he could drown in them.

"Oh I do sing for love and joy. I sing because it is part of you that I can keep with me, and because I know it makes you happy. But there is something more you can do to make me happy."

Erik felt his heart constrict but at the tenderness of her words he felt it begin to float. "I would grant you a favor regardless of what you do. Tell me what it is you want."

Christine scooted closer to him and he could already feel the warmth from her presence. He saw how her hair fell from her shoulders and the scent of roses wafted through his senses.

"But it is not just for me," she insisted, grabbing his one hand between both of hers, "it is for you too."

Erik was stunned. What could she possibly want that was for him as well? He felt a weak smile tugging at his lips but he kept it buried. Secretly he was afraid that she would ask for something outside of his power to give but at the same time he was elated that she was thinking of something for him…something surely wonderful they could share…

"What is it, Christine?"

She raised one hand to hover above his mask but gracefully let it fall to curl around his fingers once more.

"Let me see your face," she whispered.

As quickly as Erik felt his heart soar he felt it hurtle to the ground and shatter in her chest. His hands stilled in his lap and he didn't realize he had stopped breathing. His face was frozen beneath the mask and his lips were turning white.

_She asks for what will bring nothing for either of us_, he thought bitterly, but when he spoke his voice remained gentle and patient.

"I'm afraid you ask for the one thing in my power I cannot grant," he said. "Please…do not ask it again."

There was silence between them now, and it hurt Erik to hear her ask for what they had agreed would remain unsaid. She had broken her only promise to him when he had done so much to keep her happy.

He sat back on his heels and watched her eyes stare sadly at her folded hands. As much as he wanted to change the subject, he felt he had to remind her of why her questions would remain unanswered.

He sighed. "You see, my dear," she looked up when he spoke, "there are many reasons why I cannot show you my face and…though I do not like hiding anything from you, you must allow me to keep this one secret. Hmm?"

Her eyes did not leave his face but it unnerved him because it seemed like she was trying to see through the mask. His insecurity taking hold, he adjusted it on his cheek, fearful it had come askew.

Erik's voice remained soft and steady as he tried to make his final point. "But I beg you to please not ask this of me again because I do not like saying '_no_' to you. In future I shall like to always be saying '_yes_'," he said and his smile returned. He chuckled heartily, lifting her hand delicately to place a chaste kiss on her wrist, and returned to setting out their utensils to show that the matter was closed.

The silence seemed to cut into their peaceful time together and Erik debated asking her to sing for him again but it was she who broke the silence. Her voice was so soft and it could barely fill the space between them.

"I see your eyes," she whispered, " and I know your heart…and I know your _name_," she said. The last words were so faint that Erik almost did not hear them but they rang in his ears like a gong.

Erik's emerald eyes widened behind the mask. Only one person had ever called him by his real name. He had never heard it come from anyone else and he suddenly wondered hungrily what it would sound like flowing from Christine's lips.

"My name," was all Erik could say. Christine spoke as if she had not just revealed her knowledge of one of his greatest secrets.

He waited, straining to hear her say it but she did not.

"I can see who you are and I want to see all of you."

Erik was still lost in what she had whispered, perhaps what he had not been intended to hear.

He eyed her yearningly. She held so much power over him and she had to do so little. "Say it, Christine," he said, "my name. What is my name?"

Christine leaned forward and spoke from her heart, ignoring his plea.

"You see how much I already know. I know your mother loved your father. I know she loved you. And I know that she looked upon your face and smiled. Why not let me know that love…let me know your face?"

Erik swallowed at the mention of his mother, and hearing the world love come from her lips. _Could it be possible? I would have given her so much more time…_

Christine cupped her palms to frame his face and he felt her thumbs stroke the skin by his ears and the edges of his mask. He saw nothing but her. He had wanted to hold her this close for so long but had envisioned the moment so differently. He pictured sitting by her bed at night and whispering sweetly to one another or perhaps holding her hand as they watched an opera together in his private box. He longed for that to be a reality but now he was painfully aware of where her fingers roamed.

"Show me," she said. Erik heard it but saw how she tried to soothe him with her eyes as if she knew the torment going on inside him. "Show me your face."

"I cannot," he said through a gulp. Her face did not waver from her tender plea.

"Why," she asked?

"Because," Erik faltered, "because I have no face only…I have only the semblance of a face…and no one should ever have to look at it."

Christine's hands fell to his shoulders and Erik let out a long breath through his teeth that showed his relief. Her fingers so close to the edge of his mask made him anxious.

"Please," she whispered, a tender smile lingering on her lips.

"You don't know what you're asking," he said unnerved.

"Yes I do," she said and she sat so close he could see the churning sea of curiosity in her eyes. "There is so much more that we have to share."

"Christine…this time that I have spent with you is the nearest I have ever been to bliss and I…I am satisfied with that. You say there is more…and yes there is more…but not for _me_," he said. His voice quivered.

Christine continued to plead with him. Erik surprisingly felt no rage but his growing fear that she would not stop until she saw...and that fear made him desperate.

"Oh please I-"

"No stop."

"But I could look-"

"No I ask you to please just…_stop_."

Erik could not look at her. Her persistence was wearing him down but when she spoke again there was fire in her voice and her words made him search her eyes again fearfully.

"Only if you say you do not love me will I stop," she said.

Erik was frozen and simply stared. Christine already had him partially bared before her when she spoke of his love. His love for her had been a kindling fire in his heart that had been stored away. It was like she had dug around through his mind and picked his most treasured thought and held it before him tauntingly.

He ground his teeth over his tongue and knew there was no way she would relent. She had no idea how much she was torturing him.

"I feel a chill descending. I think we had better go it…it looks like rain," Erik said hastily as he put the wine back into the basket.

"No! Please don't do that," she pleaded, reaching out to still his hand.

"I know you love me and you must let me love you in return. But I want to love you completely…and that means I will love your face as well."

"Christine…could you not love me as I am…with the mask," he asked hopefully?

"Could you love me and never doubt that my love only goes as far as your mask," she challenged?

Erik was still and he was broken. He had never thought of her love only being half full. He feared her reaction but he was unsure whether he feared her false love more. He was torn to give in to her request but what after? He was afraid of how much would change. He tried to reason that she was telling him not to simply show himself, but to let her show that her love was true. It was a calming thought but he had yet to hear her say _it_…

"My name, Christine…say my name for me once and I will…"the words failed him.

Christine sat up straight and held his hand between both of hers. He knew he stood on a precipice but the next thing she said was probably one of the most beautiful and addicting sounds Erik had ever heard; something that should have been so mediocre but it was like a secret being told after being hidden away for years.

"Erik," she whispered and she smiled so sweetly at being able to finally say it in front of him. Erik felt a wave of heat shoot through his body and he let out one long breath like built up steam. At that moment he was putty in her hands.

Christine had only embraced Erik once before and he had gone rigid in her arms, his body unable to respond but when Christine suddenly flung her arms around Erik's neck, breathing deeply against his shoulder, Erik slowly let his arms wrap around her back, his hands meeting just under her neck. Erik felt a pitiful _mew_ escape his lips when he realized she was whispering his name over and over again against his neck.

He gulped and reluctantly released her. The smile on her face faded quickly as she noticed the pain in his eyes.

Erik raised shaking hands to the ties of his mask. The knot gave and the strands fell to the side where he disentangled them from his hair. He grasped the mask at the nose and gently pulled, inching the mask off his face. He could already feel the air seeping between the cracks and cooling the sweaty skin underneath. He gasped involuntarily as he pulled it away completely and he sat bare before her eyes, his deformed skin tingling under her scrutiny.

Erik couldn't stand to keep his eyes open. If she cringed, if she gagged, it she screamed he did not want the memory to replay every time he shut his eyes. It was quiet, _Oh god…what if she fainted,_ Erik thought. But Erik was not afraid of hearing her scream, he had heard so many shriek at the sight of him but what he feared most was the look in her deep blue eyes. Would they never stare happily into his green eyes or would they bulge in terror at his monstrosity?

Braving a glance, Erik saw that Christine had not moved. Her hands were still folded in her lap, her dress pooled around her. He chanced a look at her face and saw that her blue eyes were staring right back at his own, and they were overflowing with tears.

He stared at her with saucer shaped eyes as she crawled so close to him that their foreheads touched. He gasped for air as his heart raced and he felt her breath against his bare cheek and it was softer than a feathery breeze. Her lips quivered but she spoke with unwavering sincerity. "Oh my, Erik," she whispered, "my sweet Erik."

Erik choked out a sob and before he could take in a full breath he felt Christine's lips fold softly over his. His body tensed and felt his limbs weigh him down like stone. He felt the mask drop from his hands but did not care where it landed. He felt the blood warm in his veins and he slowly let his hands cup her cheeks as they kissed. She broke the kiss to look into his eyes and she smiled…she _smiled_ through her tears. Erik was not ready to let the moment end and have that kiss become a memory yet. He pulled her close again and felt his body melt into her. "Christine…" he sobbed and crushed her lips to his again. Her tongue teased at his lower lips and he parted his lips to invite her in. The sensation of her tongue tracing along his mouth made him moan at the unknown pleasure.

His tears continued to fall as she did not break their kiss again. Their lips parted only to take in desperate gasps of air and then they would feel each other's warmth again. Erik slid his hands down her shoulders and wrapped them securely around her waist. She felt his hands trembling and moved to hold them in her own. She slowly parted their lips and Erik realized he was breathing very hard. His breath was like a warm blast against Christine's skin. Suddenly his heart pounded louder in his chest when before his heartbeat seemed to have vanished. She brought each finger one by one to her lips and kissed each one adoringly. Erik gulped and looked into her eyes. She was focusing on planting light kisses on each fingertip. The feeling was like he was dipping his hands into warm oil.

She held his hands between them and she met his eyes. Still holding his hand, she brought hers up and stroked his left cheek with the back of her hand. Erik's hands began to shake in her grasp and he had to close his eyes and let out a long breath. When he opened his eyes again he saw that she was looking at him intensely and his eyes were wide with wonder.

"I look upon your face and see nothing more than you; nothing more than love."

Erik felt his body jolt and he collapsed against her. She wrapped her arms around him and cradled him against her body. His head sat nestled against her shoulder and he sobbed while he clutched onto her like a life preserver.

"Oh…_god_…" he choked as he gulped for air. Her fingers ran through his hair and it was such an intoxicating feeling. The soothing touch of her fingers on his scalp was almost hypnotizing. He continued to cry and she began to rock him slowly. Then, when he vowed he would keep his eyes shut until this memory was burned into his mind forever, he heard her begin to sing. It was a little more than a whisper but the notes climbed down from her lips and into his soul. She sang against his ear as if the song was meant only for him to hear. He felt his tears dry almost instantly and became still in her embrace. Blissfully in his mind he noted that the day he was meant to die he wanted to recreate this moment because nothing else in his life compared to what he felt with her.

When her song was finished, he slowly sat up and their foreheads were pressed together again. They both kept their eyes closed and Erik breathed heavily through is nose. She stroked his hair behind his ears and cupped his cheek. When he opened his eyes, she was staring back at him and smiling once more.

"I told you, Erik," she said sweetly, holding back a teary laugh, "my love is not for what I see," she brushed her hand across his chin and he grasped it firmly, "but for what I feel," she said and put both of their hands over her heart.

Erik never wanted to forget her face in this moment. She had proven to him that there was more for him, and that his face could be looked upon in love by someone who loved him in return.

"You are magic, Christine."

Erik took her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. He held it near his lips as he spoke. "I shall never need another thing for the rest of my life. You have given me everything in this one moment. For eternity, Christine, there is nothing you could ask…that I could deny you and there is nothing in this world that I could not give you."

"After all you have already done I can hardly ask for more," she said with a fading smile. Christine looked away and stared at their joined hands. "Will you ask me to stay here…with you," she asked?

Erik looked at her longingly, praying that he had understood what she had really meant. _She wants to stay with me? Could she really be happy with me? Unless…the Count…_

Erik's hopes fell at the thought of the young man who had stolen her away on the night she sang at the bistro. She wanted to know if he would keep her here…away from _him_. The hare he felt for the youthful fool began to simmer. He saw her face and that was the extent of the beauty he saw in her. It sickened Erik to think how the Count claimed to love her but Erik saw he was undressing her with his eyes.

"I will not keep you unless you ask to stay. I know there is…_much_ awaiting your return."

Erik let their hands drop and he sat on his heels, despair seeping over to replace the untarnished joy that had been coursing through him.

"Everyone will be so shocked to see I have a voice after all," she said trying to laugh at her stage debut as a mute. _When Erik saved me…_she thought.

"And you can say yes to the Count," Erik said brokenly. His lips stiffened with effort not to show his anger in his face but Christine saw the sadness in his eyes and had to look away.

"Philippe…he-" Christine began but a cry from beyond, back toward the cellars, silenced her and they were both lifelessly still.

"_Christine!"_

Erik turned to look back through the trees as if he could see the source of the voice but he knew. He _knew_. Only one other would dare to come down looking for her and a picture of the young count blazed before his eyes, overwhelming him with detestation. Suddenly, Erik was powerfully aware that Christine was looking past him at the tunnels from where they had come. When she finally looked at Erik again, the look in his eyes shot shockwaves of fear through her. The once calming green irises were narrowed in a scowl of hatred and his body began to shake with fury. His next words he spat at her with pure loathing. And in that moment, the music stopped.

"You lead him here…you lead him down _here!"_

**Please leave me a review and tell me what you think! Reviews are my greatest motivation to keep updating my stories. Should I keep this going? Let me know! Thank you!**


	2. Rage

"All He Needs"

By

TheBatgirl31

Chapter 2: Rage

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed my first chapter. Your reviews really make a difference in my motivation to continue with my work and, overall, they make me smile. I'm also glad to see that I'm not the only one who loves Charles Dance as the Phantom. He is one of my personal favorites. I hope you all enjoy what is to come and please keep reviewing! Thank you. **

Erik stood and the world seemed to still in his presence. Christine looked as he towered above her and for the first time felt fear. Her eyes drifted to his mask which was still sitting on the blanket between them but he seemed to have forgotten it. The only sound between them was his heavy breathing until another outcry came from the caverns.

"_Christine_!"

Suddenly, Erik's body began to quake and with a throaty growl, Erik pulled Christine to her feet and dragged her back through the forest. Christine was silent but halfheartedly pulled against his arm. She wanted to go back to that moment filled with love they were about to share but she knew that it was broken and Erik would not be coaxed away from Philippe. Anything she said now would fall upon deaf ears.

Christine felt no fear for herself, only fear for the man calling her name and daring to venture down into Erik's domain. Christine felt greatly for her long lost childhood companion, but mostly, she felt he was a fool. He had come for her, alone and without knowing the way…and without asking if she _wanted _to stay.

Erik looked back at her only once as they traipsed back towards the sound of Philippe's voice, and Christine saw that amongst the anger and betrayal in his eyes, there was also desperation. She knew he regretted showing her his face because now she would see Philippe, remember his beautiful face, and forget all about that tender moment she had shared with Erik. Christine was afraid but, as he pulled her forward, she consoled her heart by telling herself that the man in front of her was not the man she was in love with.

Philippe did not know his way through the vast tunnels and passages of the opera house but instinct told him to keep going down until he saw some sign of Christine's presence. He had been warned to leave the investigation to the detectives but his mind was only set on Christine's recovery. He had little interest in superstitious theatrics and even less faith in seeming professionals who referred to their culprit as "the phantom." He knew he alone would be able to bring Christine back.

Philippe had been ready to turn back because the maze of passages, doorways, and dead ends had twisted him in almost every direction until he stumbled upon a door that lead him to a foggy lake front. Then he knew he was close. That's when he called her name.

His cries went unanswered as he looked for a way across the lake. The mist over the water made it impossible to tell the depth and there was no sign of a vessel to row him across. He had thought he had met another dead end but realized he was able to inch his way across on a small ledge on the edge of the lake.

From his first step on the opposite ground, Philippe knew he had entered anther world. Candles were the only light in the dark caverns and the water reflected an eerie glow on the walls. A long gondola with a dragon's head bobbled nearby. There were various dolls, all wearing different dresses lining one wall, each face covered by a mask. Several white carousel horses leaned heavily against a stone pillar he soon realized was an odd statue with a wailing face. Red and black curtains adorned most of the walls, no doubt concealing hidden passages and there was a distinct smell in the air that Philippe could not place. It was stifling and tickled his senses with familiarity.

He stepped deftly on the shore but his boot heels still echoed loudly around him.

"Christine," he called softly, it was almost a whisper. "Christine!"

"Philippe!"

The voice was unmistakable. Philippe whirled around looking for the cause of the sweet voice calling his name.

"Christine?"

Silence but Philippe heard a distant creaking.

"Christine, where are you?"

"Philippe!" The call was a fervent whisper, followed by more creaking. Philippe looked up toward the sound and what he saw hovering above the winding lake made his eyes widen in fear.

About fifteen feet above, a large, brass structure dangled from the ceiling as Christine peered helplessly through metal bars. To his horror, Philippe realized it was a cage.

"Christine! Christine…oh god…how-"

But he was interrupted by Christine's hurried pleas.

"Philippe, you have to leave. You are not safe here! "

"Clearly, Christine, neither are you," he said, opening his arms in reference to the oversized birdcage.

"No, Philippe, please! You have to go! I don't want him to find you!" Christine felt the tears building but she tried desperately to keep her voice steady. She did not want Philippe to mistake her fear for his safety as fear for her own.

"I'm not leaving without you, Christine!" Philippe never took his eyes away from Christine. "I'm not afraid of him!"

Before Christine could warn him once more, she was silenced by the most chilling sound she had ever heard. A rich chuckle rumbled through the room and the air seemed to chill in her lungs.

"Philippe..._go_!" It took Christine a moment to realize that the words had only sounded in her mind.

"Not afraid of me, you say," came a disembodied voice. Philippe took his eyes away from the Christine and looked around for the source of the voice. No one stood in the gleam from the water and he stomped through the shadows looking for someone who might be hiding. Nothing.

"Come out and face me! You won't see me leave here without her, _Phantom_!"

"Oh you will, Monsieur, "answered the voice, only this time it was not muffled by an echo and it seemed to be coming from nearby. "You have ventured where you are not wanted, but I shall give you one last chance to return to the surface world."

Silence but the voice spoke again.

"The story goes that the Opera Ghost wears a mask. Well I can honestly say that part of the story is true. And as Christine could tell you, it hides a rather gruesome sight indeed. If you can make your way back without seeing my face, I will let you live."

Philippe's heart swelled in his chest, overwhelming fear twisting at his instincts. He was not afraid of making it to the surface. He was afraid of leaving Christine below.

"Turn around, Monsieur."

Philippe slowly turned and saw eight neatly stacked rows of barrels. Philippe now recognized that permeating smell. It was gunpowder.

"One spark could silence this opera house forever. If you make it to the surface and dare to try to bring others back with you, this building will be nothing more than a crater."

"Philippe…_please_," Christine said with her forehead against the bars, the cool metal chilling her skin. "Please…_go."_

Philippe only heard a beloved's plea for safety, but it was not meant for her's.

"Let her go!"

"You try my patience, Count," came the voice but this time, the speaker appeared from the shadows. Philippe was openly shocked at the sight. The phantom was a _man_; an older man but still human. He was dressed in a gold and silver vest with a neatly tied cravat. The only thing that kept him from the appearance of an ordinary gentleman was the mask revealing nothing but his lips and chin. Philippe could see a pair or green eyes watching him intensely as he stood just under the cage.

"I do not have accommodations for _three_ in my home, so unless you make your way back I'm afraid you will become quite…_uncomfortable_." As if he had conjured it from thin air, Erik unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Philippe.

Philippe eyed the phantom warily but he was mildly comforted by the feel of his pistol holster hidden beneath his jacket.

"Is this how the rats have taught you to treat your guests," Philippe challenged?

Erik went unnerved by the comment, "The rats only appreciate the difference between welcome and _unwelcome _guests. I may live underground but I know the meaning of hospitality, Monsieur."

Philippe's face grew hard. "And how have you learned to treat unwelcome guests?"

Erik ran his finger over the blade slowly and then whipped it through the air, letting it settle in front of him like a walking cane. "The rats have to be fed somehow," he said coldly.

Philippe took a step toward him, his hand ready to reveal his weapon. "I'm not leaving here without, Christine."

Erik was still but answered as patiently as if they had come to an understanding. At the Count's sudden advance he again held his sword in front of him defensively. "Then you shall not leave."

Erik turned and made his way toward the boat with the dragon's head. Philippe followed Erik around the stone shore, his hard footsteps booming off the walls. "I will take her," he began but upon hearing Philippe close at his heels, Erik whirled around and pointed his sword directly into Philippe's chest.

"Then. You. Shall. DIE!" Erik bellowed the last word at the top of his lungs and Christine felt her hands jolt up to cover her ears. She saw Erik hand Philippe the oar and gave him space to enter the boat. Silently, Christine prayed Philippe would take the offer. "_He won't get another one_," she knew.

Philippe took a step forward and made to grab the oar but instead backhanded Erik, throwing him off balance just enough to kick the sword out of his hand. All of them heard the metal make a light splash in the water and the _chink_ when it finally hit the bottom.

Philippe now had his pistol free and pointed it at Erik, ready to fire if he took another step. Christine fumbled around in the cage trying to see what was happening. She had seen Philippe pull out the gun and saw that Erik was now unarmed. She let out a terrified wail of "NO!" before Erik regained his balance, grabbing the oar as he stood, and used one end to knock the gun out of Philippe's hand and twisted it expertly to undercut Philippe in the chin. Philippe fell backwards but Erik grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and threw him into the boat.

Philippe felt a raw brashness on his chin and slightly became disoriented and unbalanced as his weight flopping into the boat had unsettled it on the water. Before he could stand, Erik regained the balance in the boat by stepping into it and steadying it with one hand on the oar. He kicked Philippe in the chest and planted his foot firmly just over his throat. Philippe lurched forward to try to knock him off balance but Erik used his other hand to knock Philippe back down and replanted his boot, pressing more firmly into his neck.

Philippe clawed at his leather boot, trying to break free of his choke hold while Erik now used both hands to row the boat across the lake. He ignored the Count's gasping and cursing through his bruised lips but he struggled not to hear Christine's screams from behind them as he rowed the young man to the opposite shore. The last coherent words Philippe could decipher from her screams were "Erik…_please!" _

_So the brute has a name_, Philippe thought.

Across the shore, out of Christine's sight and earshot, Erik relinquished his hold over the Count's throat and tried to balance the boat as Philippe struggled to get up. The boat made him unbalanced and he fell onto the shore with a swift nudge on his lower back from Erik's boot. He stared back at the man in the boat with contempt, chest heaving and eyes still wide from lack of air.

"I will be watching you, Count. Find your way to the surface but if you catch even the _slightest _glimpse of my face, it is all over for you."

_And I will drag your body back down and watch your head bob in the water,_ Erik thought. This thought, however, did not bring a smile to his masked face.

Philippe slowly stood and stared deep into the eyes of the man he knew wished he had not been generous and let him live. Philippe knew he was not alive because of the phantom's sense of morality. He had simply relented from killing him in front of Christine.

"_He doesn't want to have her convinced how much of a monster he really is," _Philippe thought.

For his life he was humble and for a further chance to save Christine, he was grateful.

Philippe remained indignant as he took his first retreating steps. "I won't stop looking for her," he said, remembering the eyes of his new enemy. He had no face but he would remember those eyes.

Erik steadied the oar and made ready to push off. "Then be sure God can pick out your ashes in the rubble."

Erik waited until the Count took a few more steps and then began to row away. He heard Philippe's feet as he ran up the first of many staircases to the surface. Erik's eyes graced the ceiling of the tunnel as if he could follow the sound of the Count's feet through the rock. With a smile, Erik slowed his gondola and pushed toward a pillar standing off the center of the lake. The boat steady beneath his feet, Erik pressed three bricks and they revealed a silver handle made of wrought iron embedded in the rock. Erik pulled the handle and a hidden ladder was revealed that stretched so high that the top vanished in the shadows.

Erik found his footing on the first wrung and used one hand to lift the mask from his face and watched it drop safely on the floor of the boat. Deftly, Erik moved up the ladder and seemed to melt into the darkness as he climbed high into the passageways above to head of the Count.

**You know what's funny? A couple of times I had to go back and correct myself because instead of putting 'Philippe' I put 'Raoul'. Hehe.**


	3. Reasoning

_I am so sorry its taken me so long to update. I've been very busy lately and I had a hard time getting back into the groove of writing, especially with this chapter with so much dialogue. I really hope you all like it and keep reviewing. They further my motivation to keep the chapter's coming. Thanks!_

Chapter 3: Reasoning

Erik sat in the shadows of the staircase leading to the upper storage chambers, waiting for the Count to stumble his way past. He knew he would choose this path because it was the most lit passage up to the surface. As he moved upward more and more, there were fewer and fewer places to hide, but Erik had no intentions of waiting long. He had no plan on killing the Count tonight, although the desire was great within him. Erik just wanted to make sure he went back to the main level and stayed there.

Finally, Erik heard dragging footsteps and the shock-stricken Count came around the corner. Erik watched Philippe as he looked over his shoulder before taking the steps two at a time. For a moment, Erik reveled at the sight of the shaken, retreating fool but also felt vicious hatred toward the young man; not only for his ties to Christine, but for his true, unequivocal beauty. He was a model of physical perfection: toned arms, swift legs, and a broad chest. His face was gentle but his eyes held a hidden intensity to make most men take a step back. But Erik had one thing that held him at an advantage; he had Christine.

Erik seemed to glide down the ladder and landed stiffly in the boat. He landed on the shore and cursed as he fumbled around at the bottom of the boat for his mask. Tying it securely behind his head, he looked up at the cage and saw Christine peering down at him. He held her gaze for a moment and turned away and strode towards his room. "_Not now," _he thought.

Closing the door behind him, he tore at his cravat and threw it to the ground. Suddenly his clothes felt too constricting and removed his vest as well, leaving him only in his black suit pants and white ruffled shirt. Erik's chest heaved as he took a few steps before collapsing on his bed. The cool sheets soothed his sweating body but no sooner did ne settle his face against his pillow did he hear another familiar voice calling his name through the caverns.

_Gerard. _

Groaning, Erik stood and nearly ripped his bedroom door out of the wall. Gerard was unshaken by his abrupt appearance and took a few steps toward Erik. He stood tall and firm, despite Erik's obvious advantage in all areas of youth, stature, and strength.

"Erik, you've gone too far."

Erik said nothing.

"You've got to let her go. You can't keep her here. The Count is threatening to-"

Erik waved his hand curtly in a silencing gesture and Gerard became quiet.

"Not here," Erik whispered, pointing to the cage above. Gerard peered up and his eyes flared, his jaw dropping in horror. Before he could speak, Erik gripped his shirt sleeve and pulled him away toward Erik's study.

It was a small room with minimal furnishings; nothing more than a desk and a single lounge chair. The walls seemed to crouch in on them as they were lined with bookshelves that would have made any scholar drool. The lounge chair was velvet and crowned with wooden carved birds.

"I thought I told you never to come down here again," Erik said once the door was shut.

Gerard wiped his sweating hands against his jacket and looked at Erik nervously.

"So the Count was not exaggerating…it really is a _cage_," Gerard said, his voice far away.

Erik huffed. "So…gone sniveling to you has he? I suppose he told you I was doing other horrible…_monstrous _things?" Erik grew quiet.

"Erik…you don't realize what you've done. They're talking like they're going to war up there."

Erik said nothing but stopped beside the chair, still not facing Gerard.

_So I am at war with the world_, Erik thought with a grin.

Gerard pressed on. "You've got to let her go. You say you love her but you've got her locked up in that monstrosity. You have to let her go back…"

Gerard knew his risks in coming back down to face Erik. When the Count had emerged from one of the secret passages, Gerard had known immediately where he had come from. He had rashly explained how Christine was being held against her will and how the phantom was actually a flesh and blood being.

"Catch your breath, Monsieur," Gerard had said, helping Philippe to take a seat on the staircase. His chin was cut and he was dangerously out of breath. "What happened?"

Philippe seemed to gag on his own saliva as he tried to steady his breathing and speak all at once.

"He's real…I mean he's a _man_! It's a man living down there, Gerard. We're not dealing with some ghost."

_I know_, Gerard had almost said. "Christine is with him?"

Philippe nodded and his face was wiped of all astonishment and taken over by a grimace of hatred.

"He's got her locked up in a cage, dangling from the ceiling, the bastard, as if she were some animal! The only reason I'm alive is because he did not wish to slaughter me in front of her."

Suddenly Philippe was quiet and his eyes filled with worry, his face quickly softening at the thought of Christine.

"She must be so afraid…she called out to me. God only knows what he's already done to her." Philippe's face tensed in disgust.

Gerard stood looking down at Philippe. He put his hand on the Count's shoulder. Philippe stared ahead with his hands folded against his lips.

"Did he threaten Miss. Christine," Gerard asked?

Philippe shook his head. "He only said that he would blow up the Opera House if I tried to come back for her."

Gerard's mind flashed with the memory of seeing the stacks of gunpowder barrels. Erik was by no means bluffing . But something troubled Gerard. The fact that the Count was still alive assured him that more was coming. Erik had had spare to no second thoughts about killing Joseph Bouquet who had simply wandered into his domain on accident. But the Count had ventured down deliberately and with the intention of taking Christine with him. Why would Erik spare the Count's life and compromise the location of his hiding place as well as Christine's safety?

Gerard's heart suddenly swelled in his chest. _Unless Erik was counting on Philippe to bring others back with him._

Gerard got on his knees, struggling for balance on his ailing joints. Philippe saw that Gerard was suddenly very tense.

"Monsieur, you must tell me everything you remember _now!"_

Gerard only hoped that he could spit on the fire before it reduced everything to ashes.

"You released the Count," Gerard said, "now if you love her so let Christine go back to-"

"I SAVED HER!" Erik bellowed. Gerard felt no fear at the tone of Erik's voice but knew that the mask was the only thing separating the apparent man from the beast. "_I _gave her the chance to sing! _I _showed her what true beauty she was capable of!"

Erik's chest heaved and he spat his next words at the floor like nails. "_I _didn't laugh at her…" Erik leaned painfully against the desk and shut his eyes; the sound of the audience roaring and jeering in anger and mirth, Christine's mortified face as she struggled to drag her voice back to her throat, the screams as the chandelier above swayed dangerously above the crowd. The memory had been replaying in his head for the past two days and he had been trying so hard to make Christine smile again, hoping to erase it. But now, he had shown Christine his face and she had responded with all the love in the world. For one moment everything else had melted away and he had thought that they would be happy together.

It had killed him to put her in the cage but he had only done it to put her out of the Count's reach. He wanted one uninterrupted chance to show Christine what his love could do for her...he needed more time alone with her. He had reasoned with himself that if she still wanted the Count, he would let her go, but only if she asked to leave. Erik knew he was too selfish to let her go by his own hand.

Gerard sighed. He knew what memory was silently torturing Erik and knew how he was rationalizing his actions. Erik had always put himself and the world on different pedestals; sometimes it was obvious how high he placed himself. He saw the cruelty in the crowd's reaction to Christine's folly and now felt that keeping her down here was for her own protection.

"_Up there is where Hell is and I will not send an angel to Hell_," Erik had said.

As much as Gerard grumbled at Erik's resentment and bitterness at the world, he felt for the man who he had watched grow without knowing any tenderness. His mother was gone from his life too soon and since had known so little of warmth. And once again, he watched his temper flare.

"Is this ever going to stop," Gerard whispered?

Erik looked at the older man standing in front of the study door. He was at least four inches shorter than Erik and his graying hair was nature's sign of a difficult life rather than wisdom. Although Gerard was wise, he often tested Erik's temper; even though Gerard's fuse could tend to be shorter than his.

As much as they disagreed, Erik respected him. Gerard worked as Erik's voice in the opera house and made many sacrifices to keep Erik's abode hidden. Despite how much Erik resented admitting it, he owed Gerard for a great deal. But now, it seemed that Gerard had sided with the rest of the world, reproaching and admonishing Erik's first chance at a persevering love.

Erik knew why it would never be tolerated. Christine was beautiful, an angel; she belonged to the Count and his world of lace and silk. Erik was half a man who made himself out to be god-like with his anonymity and secrecy.

Erik clenched his eyes shut against the anger that boiled with his thought. The Count had many women, most who already belonged to other men. He could take all he desired like a sexual glutton, but Erik who had waited all his life for a pure, genuine love, was considered selfish and cruel.

"Am I asking for so much," Erik said, "Is it so much to ask just to have her with me?"

"If you are keeping her away from the world she loves, then yes, Erik."

Erik looked at Gerard and his face, though hidden by the mask, was wrinkled by all the sadness in the world.

"I showed her my face, Gerard," Erik said and his voice was filled suddenly with hope.

Gerard's eyes widened. The last woman who had seen his face was his mother. He had never trusted another human being with the knowledge of his true identity. Gerard suddenly felt his heart break for the man before him. The girl had seen his face and now she would never be free.

"Oh Jesus, Erik."

Erik looked at Gerard, his words from before echoing in his mind.

"_I believe in time, with any luck, she will learn to love me... It would be a cruel God indeed to have sent her otherwise."_

"I didn't understand it. She…she wasn't afraid. She was so…_calm_. I couldn't bear to look at her but then she kissed me and…oh god, Gerard…it was the single most beautiful thing I've ever felt. "

Erik's face took on a dreamy grin and his mind drowned in a euphoric haze. His lips still faintly tingled with the feel of Christine's lips. But then the Count's voice echoed again in his mind.

"For one moment…one moment…I thought she was ready to tell me she loved me…and then that bastard spoiled everything!"

Gerard could feel the anger building in Erik's body like pressure on a champagne cork.

"Erik, I'm not going to argue with you. You'll see sooner or later that you can't hide her down here forever. I'll leave as you asked but I'm going to bring the young mademoiselle with me."

All the air was crushed out of Gerard's lungs as Erik gripped his collar and threw him against the bookcase wall. Several books fell from the shelves and clattered on the floor. Gerard tried to balance himself but Erik grabbed his shoulder, his fingers digging through his jacket and bruising the skin. Erik's eyes blinded Gerard with their evil glare. Gerard had always dangled on a thin line of Erik's patience but now it had been cut. He had tried to take away what was most precious to him and now he was another enemy in Erik's eyes.

Erik's chest heaved with uneven breathes. His teeth barred like flesh-tearing fangs and nothing could match the benevolence in his eyes.

"If I wouldn't let the count have her, what makes you think I'll let her go with you, old man?"

Erik's condescending snap towards their difference in age made it clear that Erik was establishing his dominance like a bull barging head on at a matador.

"Erik...please," Gerard said feebly and tried to pry Erik's hand off his shoulder. "The longer you resist the greater the hatred will grow against you."

Shockingly, Erik smiled and Gerard swallowed hard. The corner of Erik's mouth curled sinisterly.

"Do you honestly believe I am not already aware of the hatred the world has for me? Why do you think I'm down here!"

Gerard's face tensed at the shooting pain going down his arm. "But she is part of that world, Erik."

I was perhaps one of the truest, cruelest, and most unwise things Gerard would ever say in Erik's presence. Erik shoved Gerard again against the wall and he could not suppress a yelp of pain as Erik now yanked on the hair just above his neck, forcing Gerard to look up into his masked face.

"She is nothing like them," Erik hissed, "_ Nothing_… she saw my face… she kissed my hideous FACE!"

Erik yanked harder and Gerard felt Erik's spit spray on his chin as he spoke again.

"Don't you _ever_ compare her to those cockroaches up there again."

Erik was past listening. With his free hand he opened the study door and, his death grip still on Gerard's shoulder, he tossed him out of the room and watched as he tumbled close to the water' s edge. Gerard groaned as the skin of his back felt raw from sliding against the stone floor. He looked up at Erik who stood like a giant guarding his castle, taking a few steps towards him, his boots making sounds like they were making dents in the granite.

"Don't think just because you've kept my rat-hole hiding place a secret that I won't think twice about trusting you again," Erik said and again, as if out of thin air, he produced a weapon. It was a silver, dual shot pistol and he aimed it straight at Gerard's head.


	4. Purpose

Chapter 4: Purpose

_Hello again! I first feel I should apologize for this monthly hiatus of my story. I hope I didn't lose any of my readers. Life happens and unfortunately. I hope to get back in the groove again and to be updating more regularly. And I know I haven't given you guys any love scenes in a while but don't despair. As always I hope you all enjoy what is to come and, as always, reviews are greatly appreciated and motivating. Enjoy!_

Christine heard the muffled voices from the room just off the corner. The door looked as if it were made of pure brass and, if not for the color, would have been completely fused with the wall. The brashness of the older man startled Christine, though not as much as Erik's seemingly reasonable demeanor at his intrusion.

She knew he was a daring man, his bravery surpassing his physical lack of youth. He had been the one to tell her about Erik's mother and who had given her the courage to see him bare, without the mask and without his guard. Still, the old man's message left her puzzled. He had ventured down once to warn her about Erik's possessive nature, of which she was suddenly highly aware of as she sat dangling above the ground like an oversized canary.

He had warned her but if he knew Erik's home, was he not someone he could trust? One thing Christine could not be sure of left her feeling more in danger and much less reassured. For whose benefit was the old man fighting?

Suddenly the distant voices from the vanishing room rose and there was a sound of crumbling furniture before the old man was thrown out of the door, landing on his back just at the edge of the water. Erik appeared in the doorway with Christine's shout of surprise. He did not look up at her. He watched as the old man began to painfully turn over, his teeth clenched and hissing with pain.

"Don't think just because you've kept my rat-hole hiding place a secret that I won't think twice about trusting you again."

Christine saw Erik's arm rise and a faint _click _made her gasp at the realization of what he was holding. The gun barrel stared the old man down as he tried to stand. He did not take his eyes off of it as he found his footing.

"Erik…put it away," the old man said calmly. His hands, which had briefly been raised in a sort of fearful, surrendering gesture, dropped.

Erik simply cocked the gun higher, now clearly aiming at the man's forehead.

"You're a little too decisive for my liking, Gerard," Erik said.

"_So that's his name_," Christine thought as she craned her neck to see better through the bars.

Gerard was so close to the edge of the lake Christine wondered how he fought the shivers from the freezing water.

"Erik…this is enough," Gerard said. His voice was curt and fearless.

Christine could not see Erik's face. She only saw the side of his mask but, as Gerard stared him down, he saw Erik smirk.

The gun was still aimed at Gerard's head.

"Your demands are a bit dry, old man. Perhaps you should take a dip," Erik said and, as if answering him, the waves crashed along the walls loudly with emphasis.

Gerard said nothing. Christine heard nothing but the creaking of the cage swinging in the drafty breeze. Erik's sudden haunting chuckle warped the silence.

"Don't you remember what the water can feel like when you're not saving someone from drowning," Erik whispered? Gerard's face tightened and his eyes fell. It was a memory both he and Erik recalled with bitterness.

Christine did not hear him.

Gerard looked up at Erik and his eyes were narrowed now. Erik was waiting.

"Don't play games with me, Erik. I mean it, you…"

"You think I'm playing," Erik interrupted? "You're a second away from a bullet splitting your skull and you assume this is a game?"

It was as if Erik had molded with the wind in the tunnel and in a blink he was standing in front of Gerard, only now with the pistol pressed against his chest.

"Do you think you're winning," Erik teased?

"I'm not afraid of you, Erik, I know your game plan better than you…" Erik interrupted again and the two began to bicker, their voices climbing and the echoes bouncing around the cavern.

"YOU overestimate your luck!"

"Don't be STUPID, Erik, I know you're not going to kill me WITH MY OWN GUN!"

It was silent. Christine felt her panic mounting and she was terrified for when she would hear the shot. It never came. She watched Erik, unable to read his face. Erik scoffed with amusement.

"Maybe you're not as lost as I thought," Erik said. He no longer pointed the gun at Gerard. He was running over it back and forth with his palms. "You recognize the pistol I borrowed."

"You mean _stole_," said Gerard, his voice still containing the stiffness from before.

Christine continued to watch as the two men continued their coarse exchanges, saying nothing, as if she thought she had become invisible to them and she was witnessing some private, ruthless confrontation.

Erik turned away and held the pistol loosely in his left hand. Christine could not tell, but he was peripherally looking at her and debating what he would have to say to her later. He was very aware of everything she was seeing.

"Go away, Gerard," Erik said softly and unburdened as he moved slowly back toward the room they had just exploded out of. The floor in the doorway was littered with glass from the commotion before but Erik paid no mind to the crunching under his boots as he walked away.

"Erik, I've already made it clear that I'm not leaving without…"Gerard stopped. Erik had turned back and was staring at him with stone, hard eyes that resembled the walls of ancient tombs. Even through the mask, Erik's fury was ill hidden. That sculpted scrap of ivory could mask all the joy and sadness in the world, yet anger seemed to billow out like smoke on a growing fire.

His voice betrayed a look in his eyes that promised unmerciful torture and the stiffness of his lips and brow. It was as collected and painstaking with each word.

"I think…you best go, Gerard. Now there is still much to be…discussed." Again Erik eyed Christine discreetly from the distance. Gerard knew Erik's focus and tolerance of him was depleting. Still Gerard did not move.

"If I leave now, you won't have another chance."

There were so many things it could have meant: another chance to make amends? Another chance to make allies with the world above? Another chance to let her go free? Erik knew what Gerard was trying to tell him: keeping Christine only made him an enemy and he would have to fight on his own. It was a pitiful warning, a last resort. Erik turned but kept his eyes low. Gerard stood just below where Christine hung and he saw her little hands grasping the bars, her eyes shrouded in the shadows of the cavern.

Erik felt his anger fusing with the vision of their picnic together. Even with the image befuddled with the Count's intrusion, he still felt his heart grasping toward that short, blissful moment with Christine. Erik could not let her leave when he had not been given the chance to show her how much they could share. They had been interrupted. Like so much as he had witnessed, it was unjust and he felt he had right to keep her until he was ready to let her make her choice.

At the thought, Erik's heart fell a short way.

"_By now she may have already made it," _Erik thought, and for a moment he heard nothing but the metallic croaking above.

This time, Gerard approached Erik, slowly. He did not face him but he spoke to him as if whispering a sacrament to him on his deathbed, giving him one more chance to deliver his love and himself from what Gerard knew would come.

"If I return without her, Erik, it will be the end for you . To win her love you will have to go to war. I would have thought by now you would be tired of fighting," Gerard said.

Erik was silent.

Gerard sighed. "Turn me away now and there will be little I can do later."

Erik answered Gerard through the side of his mouth, though he seemed to be speaking to the stone wall in front of him. Gerard would leave and Christine would come down, he reasoned.

"I did not slaughter the Count in front of her. You _will _leave and I shall not grant that courtesy again."

Gerard ascended the stone steps away from the damp air of the dungeons. His head hung slightly with dread. With Erik's secret in his keeping and the Count's trust weighing on him, he feared he would soon be a mediator between two colliding worlds.

As Gerard turned onto their stairwell that would lead into the storage basement, he saw the edge of a silver cane creeping out from the shadowy landing. He stopped a few steps away. The dim light from distant hallway lamps flicked in the reflection of the silver rod. At the end of the walking cane, leaning heavily on its handle, was Erik, his face stern and his eyes drifting between Gerard and his steady, supportive hand.

"You are right," Erik said, sharply but humbly, "There will be little you can do to help me."

Gerard was silent and he kept his eyes on Erik.

"Once the young man hears of my continued reluctance to release Christine he will bring the whole world down on me. Not that it hasn't pushed down on me before," Erik chuckled warmly at his observed solitary burden.

Gerard stared at Erik as his cane dug into the brittle stone landing.

"I only wish I could give you the time you need to find what you're looking for, Erik," Gerard said solemnly.

Erik looked up.

"Oh but you can," Erik said, his voice was hopeful," you can do that for me."

Gerard reached the landing where Erik stood. The two men faced one another as if a moment before a pistol barrel hadn't been pointed between them. Gerard's voice was again filled with all the tolerance he had always shown for Erik's unkind humor and unruly quarrels.

"But how can I? The Count is convinced you've wired the entire house to explode," Gerard said.

Erik's grip on the cane tightened and he leaned heavily on it, letting out a deep sigh. Looking at Gerard he felt he again had an ally in him. He trusted Gerard for many reasons and respected him for more; one of which was his resourcefulness.

"Tell the Count I'll be saving the fireworks for a very special occasion. I'd like to keep him on hot coals until he's ready to be sensible." Erik chuckled and he twirled his cane around his wrist and then it came to rest on his shoulder.

Gerard found Erik's light-hearted threat laughable.

"How do you convince someone to be sensible when they think they are being sensible?"

Erik laughed and took a step back down the stairs.

"I'll leave it to you to handle that bit of philosophy," Erik said, pointing his cane tip at Gerard for emphasis.

"Though I would remind him that more of his unwelcome company will prolong her absence," Erik said turning back to Gerard after taking a few more steps down. He did not turn on his way again. He looked at Gerard and beguiled him with a tone filled with a lifetime's worth of reliance and gratitude.

"Buy me time, Gerard, and I will let the choice be hers. Just…time."

Gerard nodded slowly. Before Erik disappeared at the bottom of the landing, Gerard asked Erik what he was sure the Count would ask him when he emerged.

"How will we know whom she has chosen, Erik?"

Erik paused and looked back up at Gerard, as they had switched places; one at the top and one at the bottom. Erik's answer was simple.

Climbing to the landing once more, he lifted his silver cane and pulled on either end. There was a _click_ and then Erik twisted it a quarter turn. There was another _click_ and a tiny blade sprang out from the tip of the cane. At the landing, Erik dragged it along the ground, making a line in the dust.

"If she crosses here, you will know," Erik said, and turned back to the shadows, leaving Gerard to climb the rest of the path up alone.


	5. Afterward

"All He Needs"

By: TheBatgirl31

Chapter 5: Afterward

Erik lowered the cage so that it hovered just above the ground and reached for the lock. The door was as tall as the cage itself and made a vicious growl as the ancient hinges turned. Christine wobbled against the bars and tried to step down but misjudged the distance and toppled over into Erik's arms. He steadied her and then released her slowly, letting his hands drift from her shoulders to her elbows before letting go. Keeping his eyes low, he found he could not meet her gaze as he had feared in the forest. He was mildly grateful that his black mask and the combined shadows hid his eyes from her.

Christine noticed the new mask with distaste. It was dark and jagged, as if he had dipped his face in tar. It did not seem right beneath his head of brown, curly hair. Absently, Christine rubbed her fingertips together, remembering the feel of it.

"Your mask," she said, although it was little more than a whisper. Too late she realized she should not have mentioned it. The mask again served as a barrier between them.

"I have many of them, Christine," Erik said. He took two tentative steps away from her.

Christine wrapped her arms around herself and only looked at him when she found the courage to speak.

"Did…did the man return safely?" Christine asked of Gerard. It took a great deal for her to find the courage to speak. So much had changed since she had last been on the ground.

Erik nodded. He opened his mouth to speak but Christine spoke before him.

"And Philippe?" She knew it was bold to ask after him but she needed to know if he was safe. Erik's mercy only went so far.

"The Count will see another day." There was no bitterness in his voice but his hands were balled so tightly they shook.

"If you would be so good as to go to your room I will bring you something warm. You..you must be cold." He said this through stiff lips before turning away.

"I trust you know the way."

As he turned his back to her Christine felt herself reach out to him, knowing he would not look at her.

"Could we not continue our picnic?" Christine almost finished with his name but restrained herself. She was unsure if he would allow her.

Erik stopped. His head turned slightly back so she could see his eyes behind the mask. They did not match the harshness of the mask covering his face.

"I'm afraid the woods have darkened and there is quite a chill. It would not be wise to venture there again." He continued to walk toward the open door.

Christine frowned and looked down at her hands. He'd said it felt like rain. Still, another thought made Christine hopeful and she took a few excited steps forward, a childlike eagerness on her face.

"Then perhaps a singing lesson?"

Erik's pace did not falter as he curtly responded.

"Go to your room, Christine!"

She cringed at the harshness in his voice and she jumped as he suddenly swung to stare at her. His breathing was slightly labored and he glanced around indecisively.

He was beside her suddenly, his hand wrapped forcefully around her arm just above her elbow. She could feel his fingernails slightly against her skin. Lightly he shoved her toward the staircase to the upper room.

"Go," he said curtly and his eyes did not waver from her now. She looked back at him as she climbed the first steps. She knew. He was waiting for her to run.

Christine reached the top of the stairs and passed through the doorway, passing through another violet curtain.

Erik did not move until he saw her disappear behind the curtain. Turning back toward his study, he began to fish something out of the waist of his shirt.

Christine felt alone before he slammed the brass door shut and left behind a tense stillness. She peered through the doorway sheepishly before taking a few tentative steps back down.

For the first time she felt the vastness of the cavernous cellar. Before she had not taken diligent note of it but being released from the cage made her more aware of the openness.

Much of the enchantment of Erik's home had been destroyed. She had watched him as he rampaged through the tunnels in search of more he could tear and shred. Two Egyptian inspired statues now lay face down in the water with a deep maroon curtain floating nearby, the tasseled ends draped over their feet. Two carousel horses had been decapitated; their hollow heads she assumed had sunk to the bottom of the lake. It seemed darker than it had been before. With all the debris from Erik's fury stifled the turquoise glow of the water on the stone walls.

It made her sad to see the things he loved in ruin. The man she had watched from above did not embody the same grace and appreciation for beauty as the Erik she had kissed so devotedly. At the thought her lips tingled warmly. Glancing at the door he had disappeared behind, she let out a deep breath and tried to lessen her apprehension. Erik would come to her. Not particularly soon, but she knew he would. Until then, the incident with Philippe and the man she had vaguely recalled from the bistro had given her much to ponder.

Christine walked over to one of the mannequins near the farthest wall who wore a dress of swan feathers and a harlequin mask. She ran her hands over the skirt and felt he tickle on her palm. Her wandering hand cascaded up the delicate waist, across the shoulders, which had more feathers laced with jewels, and up toward the face.

The mask did not tie at the back as Erik's had; rather it had hooks on the sides that wound around the ears. Christine placed this mask over her face and a hint of mildewed wood filed her nostrils.

Philippe had snuck away from the opera house after speaking to Gerard. He opened the door to his carriage for himself and dove onto the seat, instructing his driver from behind the window to get moving. He sat low in the seat since his jacket was torn and his chin was gashed and bleeding.

Returning to his father's estate, he was grateful for the emptiness he sensed as he took the stairs two at a time. His bedroom was spacious despite the occupation of a four poster bed, a writing desk with large cabinets for his banking records, a wardrobe, and an adjoining bathroom with a porcelain tub that matched the pearl color of the paint and tile.

The window in his bedroom had the sheer, white curtain drawn since the maid had done her rounds. The balcony door was ajar to welcome in a fresh evening breeze. The drapes billowed soundlessly into the room brushing against Philippe's bare chest as he pulled on a fresh shirt. Philippe saw the redness of his chest from where the masked man had kicked him and the scratches on his chin and neck were speckled with filth from the bottom of his boots. Philippe sneered, wiped at his face angrily and threw his jacket at the wall. The empty holster under Philippe's arm reminded him that his pistol was still somewhere in the lower tunnels of the Opera. He cursed through his teeth and slipped off the holster's leather strap.

The mangled suit lay discarded on the floor and he stepped over it as he lay out a fresh one.

Philippe was often grateful for this room's solitude from the rest of the house. It had once occupied his father's study, which he had decided to move closer to his quarters after their mother had passed. And so it was that the growing eldest son was given the largest room on the eastern end of the mansion. The days greeted him warmly with the vast spread of the window and nights were inhumanly silent. Philippe had the entire wing to himself and could be dead to the world if he wished.

It was in this room that he had sat up all night thinking about the young country girl he had heard singing in the village. The hours had passed unannounced and only the memory of her voice kept him grounded. Every night since the air through that window had been swift and demanding, drawing his attention to the night sky and toward the view of the city beyond.

Looking out of this window he could see the peaks of the Opera House roof and the faint outlines of the cherubs frozen in flight over the rounded arches. The building stood out like a needle pointing toward the center of Paris. Even the cathedrals didn't reach as high to the Heavens as the Opera House.

Staring far away, Philippe marveled at the fact that, not too long ago. he had doubted to ever see the light again as he ventured into the deepest levels of that very building in search of his love and the one falsely called "the phantom." It did not escape his mind that Christine at this very moment still hung in peril by the hand of a madman.

Gerard did little to console him. The old man walked about the grand building like the owner of a cozy home, going from room to room looking at his possessions with fondness and tending to the various needs to the property. This phantom was no rat infestation in the cellar. With his position and influence at the opera now extinguished and overshadowed by Choleti, all he could do was watch as all he had worked to build, literally, blew from beneath him.

It was the first time Philippe was unsure of his next step. The only certainty he possessed in that moment was in the pure hatred brewing inside him for the man in the mask. When he had fought him in the cellars Philippe had felt a rush of strength in his body that made him feel a thousand tons heavier, as if he could crush the man with one blow. His body had moved and ducked as if in a familiar dance. Such power was intoxicating and it felt as if the faintest breath of it still coursed through him.

Tearing his gaze from the window, Philippe replaced the empty, leather holster beneath his shoulder and swung on his jacket. He left the room with the swaying curtains now settled against the wall, the wind now shifting in the direction of the same place which beckoned him.

He went to his father's study at the Southern end of the house, overlooking the main gates. Often losing track of time in this room, his father, throughout the years, had detained and entertained many a diplomat in this room with the temptation of tinkling glass of whiskey. Now it sat dusty and dim, despite the streams of sun streaming through the window behind the desk. His father's death rendered the room more of an exhibit of a life that had been and was left as it had been since the day of his burial.

Stepping into the room, Philippe's eyes did not drift over the aging furniture and lint covered shelves as they always did. Instead they fell directly on a pair of silver pistols that hung crossed above the fireplace mantel. As he approached he recalled how many years it had been since a warmth of any kind had filled this room.

The pistols were Navy Colt revolvers with wooden handles and six bullet barrels. They had been a gift from an esteemed friend of his father who dabbled in collecting firearms. Philippe reached up and took them down from their perch. He rifled through the desk drawers looking for the bullets he knew would fill the empty cartridges. His fingers left trails in the dust on the desk as he searched, finally spotting them in the top drawer on the right side. Normally only able to be opened with a special key hidden in a safe, this drawer was kept open since the lawyers had taken free reign of his father's documents.

Sitting beside the box of ammunition was another leather holster which Philippe ignored. After loading the pistols he put one in his shoulder strap and the other stuffed in his waistband, hidden beneath his vest. He left the room without a second glance. The wind was picking up again, making the aged windowpanes rattle.

Philippe urged his coachman back to the opera. He had idea what lay ahead and no particular plan of action but he knew he felt of use merely being near where his Christine was being held.

Sitting in the cab as the streets rolled past in a blur he fingered the sleeve of his jacket. He had worn the same suit that night at the bistro, when he had last heard Christine sing. His head fell into his hands and he sighed heavily. The sight of her dangling in the air like a caged songbird still burned before him. He tried to remember the sound of her voice surrounding him and their last frantic kiss before her disastrous debut. Desperately he tried to remember that night in the forest.

The moonlight had shown through the trees and the crisp leaves had been kicked up at them as the horse pulled ahead. They'd stolen many kisses in those hours as they walked the forest edge. Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the early morning light. Dawn broke through the thicket as they talked and the first rays of sun made her skin glow.

She's offered no explanation behind her sudden urge to leave but he had readily obliged with more of her kisses. In that time he had truly believed she loved him and still held no doubt of it. His eyes pressed shut more tightly in angst at the thought of her longing to be returned to the light.

Thinking back to the man in the mask Philippe was reminded of the murkiness and dimness of the caverns where he lived. Sealed off like a tomb with little air and only walls to scratch at. He did not make the connection to a such a place in his own home and instead touched his chest to feel the twin pistols pressed beneath his clothes.

Philippe used the stable entrance when he arrived. The door to Gerard's office was closed but he paid it little mind. He maintained his focused pace up the stairwell and toward the back of the main hall where the box seat entrances were. Pushing back the curtain into the first box on the grand tier, which was always reserved for the Phantom's exclusive use, Philippe somehow felt as if he were treading on someone's hiding place, or if he were intruding on the peace of this cloistered spot like one would intrude on a conversation. He half expected to see someone behind the curtain and staring down at the stage.

The stagehands were unrolling and hanging rolls of new scenery. One in particular was of a flowery meadow.

Philippe sat down in the innermost chair, folded his arms, and waited.

Erik was already at the bookcase before the door slammed behind him. The pistol he had stowed at his side under his shirt left a void against his skin as the metal was pulled away from his flesh. It was still cool against his fingers as he ran it over in his palms. He stared down at it, mentally jeering the silver instrument.

_I'll never use this_, he thought and his snide grin disappeared as he recalled why.

_They make killing too easy_.

Erik pulled out a maroon bound book of fairytales. It was hollow and well hidden amongst the other volumes. In it he placed the pistol he that pointed at Gerard. He stared at it thoughtfully. Now that he knew he had it, Erik felt less guilt over not returning it.

_Can't give them too much of an advantage. If they come down here they'll be bringing bigger ones. _

Replacing the book, he turned away with his hand sliding over a few more book spines. Sitting in the leather chair behind his desk his whole body seemed to sink. Erik closed his eyes and for a moment his face was fully hidden by the mask. He allowed for a moment that the world be completely still. The silence meant the peace was filling his home again. The world above would soon learn of the danger stacked beneath their feet but in due time he would be ready to face another battle. For now, he was master of his domain again and Christine was still safe nearby.

Christine…_Christine._

Erik felt the skin beneath his mask tingle as if remembering her touch. His mind began to whirl and the vision of her before him

"_I look upon your face and see nothing more than you; nothing more than love."_

Her words echoed in his ears, as if she were sitting next to him and repeating them over and over. Suddenly, a new sound seemed to clash with the voice in his memory.

Erik's eyes opened when he heard a soft sound beyond the door. For a few moments he stared at it, as if the sound were coming from the keyhole. Leaning forward in his chair, he strained his ears. The gentle song seeped through the walls and he knew now where it came from

"_You are magic, Christine."_

And she was. It was the same song she had whispered to him as he lay in her arms.

Erik stifled the memory, shaking his head violently and grunting as his vision slightly blurred. He touched the mask on his face and heaved a heavy sigh, relief filling him. He debated for a moment on finding a replacement but then abandoned it. The look on her face when she had seen the different mask told him she was not pleased but she would have to cope.

The other plain mask she was accustomed to still lay on the floor beside their trampled picnic. Erik refused to go back to retrieve it. Part of him felt that if he left the scene as it had been, it would remain a loving memory with the same ethereal bliss engraved in it.

With a heavy sigh, Erik heaved himself from the chair and moved to the door. He stood with it ajar for a moment and took in her song. An almost invisible smile crept to his lips. He let himself entertain the thought that she was using her song to call to him. A secret song between lovers.

Erik lowered his head, pulling the door shut slightly.

What he did not realize as he left in search of that song was that fragments of that blissful moment in the woods still seemed to linger. Christine still sang and there were still blades of grass crushed under his boots.


	6. Captive

_**Author's Note: I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed so far and who has supported this story! You all really give me the motivation to push onward with even greater vigor. Thank you! I had a lot put into this chapter because I felt the words spoken here really move the plot along. I sincerely hope you all enjoy it and appreciate my hard work because I did it all for you! And released a day early! Please read at the end of this chapter for more about what's coming up! **_

_**p.s. To those of you worried about how this story will end, take heart. I can't go into specifics with how my story will progress but I am sure that you will not be disheartened at the end. **_

"All He Needs"

By: TheBatgirl31

Chapter 6

Christine's song ended at the sound of approaching footsteps. She closed her eyes for a moment and waited to hear the curtain flutter as Erik entered. She continued to face the lake, her back to him.

Erik stood in the doorway, brushing the curtain against the stone wall. Christine did not seem to have heard him. She faced away from him, looking out as if fascinated by the sight of a massive castle in the distance rather than the murky walls. There was still so much youth in her. Erik saw it in the way she looked at things, taking them in anew, and how she sat with her feet curled under her like a daughter at her father's knee. Deep inside, Erik felt a great respect for the man who had nurtured her with such beauty and light. He also felt a swell of gratitude for the spirit having guided her to him.

Sitting there, she seemed like an unattainable gem that sat in a jeweler's window, delicate behind protective glass and to be admired from afar. For one stolen moment, Erik had thought her his. Her gentle voice and serine face had reached out to his heart and temporarily disarmed him. Erik had seen truth in her pleading eyes though had been only mildly comforted by her sincerity.

_If you love me, please, let me love you too,_ she had said.

There had been a time when removing his mask in front of her would have undone him and every nerve and instinct had pulled against him. He had left his body as he removed his mask, only existing in a tunnel of blackness behind his closed eyes.

Christine's acceptance was surreal. She had been confronted with the mangled, scarred flesh of his face, leaned forward, and kissed him. That moment had been complete with comfort and love; now the scent of mold filled the air.

What would she say when she saw him? Erik began to be grateful she had not turned to see him and considered walking out but just then Christine looked back and caught him staring. Erik's eyes were bold at first and met her gaze but soon dropped to the floor. He had caught the tiny furrowing of her eyebrows that subtly voiced her dislike for his mask. Again his mind drifted back to where his other mask lay.

"I heard you," was all he managed to say. Christine met his gaze, her voice was soft.

"You've heard that before," she said with no sense of questioning.

_I know_, Erik thought.

The silence between them was thick. With Erik still stalled across the room in the doorway, the distance between them was like a mountain and a great ocean: almost touching yet so far.

She showed none of the fear or tentativeness he had expected after his malevolent display. Erik felt like his mind was still somewhere chasing after the echoes of her song. He seemed paralyzed and unable to think of anything to say. He waited, motionless, for another word.

"Gerard," she said, staring down at her hand fiddling idly with the tassel of the cushion by the window, "I've met him before. He was at the bistro." She said this looking back at him again. Erik said nothing.

"I only knew him as Monsieur Carriere. He was so formal. I did not realize-"she stopped.

Erik let the curtain go and took a few steps behind her. She had not finished her thought but his mind drifted back to the old man whom he often greatly admired, though frequently strongly disliked.

"I have told you. He returned safely above," Erik said.

"I did not accuse you of anything," Christine said boldly but her tone betrayed her strength with the hesitance he heard there.

Erik sighed through his nostrils and looked away.

"The man treads uneasy waters," Erik said, his voice stern and sure. "I should not like to see him here again."

Christine seemed startled. "What did he want?"

Erik was stiff and his response was bound with bitterness. Still he was not direct with her and slunk away from the truth.

"He doesn't want me to go to war." To Erik this was the simplest way to explain it.

Christine stared at him as he paced back. "I don't understand."

Erik sighed and looked back at her. For one moment he indulged in the radiance of her face before speaking.

"You do, Christine. You have seen…" he paused, realizing that his hand had drifted upward in gesture to his mask. She did not look away.

Erik looked out the window, her image fogged in his eyes as he looked beyond, as if seeing a long, crowded street strewn with sunlight and various merchants pushing their carts and calling out to passersby who might spend their fortune. He could smell the flowers in the florist stand and the dewy, mold from the cobblestone streets after a rainstorm. It was like looking up while only looking ahead, the vision clear as a fond memory.

"You would not think of it, but the world is a hateful place," Erik said. He did not see how Christine looked up at him. She was wondering what he meant, her brow slightly narrowed with question and worry.

Erik's eyes were still far away and misty, however his voice was steady, as if reading from a book.

"Oh there are men who can walk out in the day as if they own everything they see. They can decide to go anywhere and see any country, any city and be themselves painted a different color. But I…I can go nowhere and be as any other man."

Erik closed his eyes and hung his head slightly; his arms were behind his back with one hand grasping his other wrist. He opened his mouth as if to speak but hovered, thinking of how to continue.

"For all of my life I have kept a secret."

_My very existence you might say, _Erik thought but dismissed it bitterly.

"Those who discover my secret I cannot forgive, because if the world sees me, then they make to cast me from it. And so I live here." Erik lifted his hands widely to gesture to and acknowledge all the caverns and tunnels of the Opera House . His hands smacked back at his sides and he folded his arms tightly across his chest, his next words were more or less for her to hear.

"And you have learned my secret."

Christine looked at him with a soft but earnest expression on her face, as if to will him to hear her without words. In her mind Gerard's gentle warning held greater clarity as it repeated in her mind.

_And now I must leave, and he cannot. _

She was slightly hurt by what he had said. Those who knew his secret were never forgiven. That was how it would be for her now. She could see. By showing her his face, Erik had shown her the greatest way to hurt him. Her eyes fell and she clasped her hands in her lap. What she feared most powerfully now was that Erik was beginning to forget. She absently touched her leg where the forest grass had tickled her.

The last of Gerard's warning came to her as an undertone.

_And now I must leave, and he cannot. But you can. _

She felt herself beginning to understand but in this she felt a great unsteadiness. There was still more and she was afraid to ask.

A name came to mind but it was foggy, like a half-known fact. Something in her mind was trying to come together and she began to see the beginning of a juxtaposition of events.

"Carlotta's dresser…the man I replaced. I took his place because…," she could not finish her thought but it did not need to be said. Erik too understood, only the chain of events was longer and further constructed in his mind.

"Yes," Erik said, his voice cracked slightly. They faced one another but looked away. Christine had plummeted and was still, her hand pressed to her forehead, while Erik was still far off, somewhere darker.

"He came down where I made sure no one dare venture. And so I…" Erik could not bring himself to say the word, simple as it was and true, "I made sure he never spoke of what he saw in the dark." Erik sighed and said evenly, "He remains…down below." With the last words Erik's voice grew deeper; the bitterness in and, more or less, toward himself rising out. Neither of them spoke until Christine broke the silence. More of Gerard's guiding words came to mind.

Erik started a bit when he heard Christine speak. He had been very aware of the silence that had sat between them.

"Gerard had told me –before," she spoke with hesitation, "that he had kept people away by letting them believe there was a ghost. He said he let you become the ghost so no one would go looking for you."

Erik made no response at first but he knew that was how it had been. Erik had lived below all his life and when the staff began hearing the ghastly sobs of a child from the lower levels, Gerard had steered them toward the path of superstition and Erik's cries and future antics became known as the sounds and dealings of the Opera Ghost. The cellars had since been a feared place.

_To make sure no one would discover him, I allowed this ghost story to grow_, Gerard had said.

Erik looked back at Christine. "Yes," he said simply, "and I remained down here." There was levity in Erik's voice now, as if his past were a casual topic discussed over tea.

The weight returned to the conversation when Erik saw that Christine was staring at the floor and her chest heaved slightly with thicker breaths. She looked as if Joseph Bouquet's body had materialized in the room and she was staring at his bulging eyes and the purple ring around his throat. Her eyes were jumping back and forth like a metronome for the onslaught of thoughts rushing through her head. What Erik saw was fear. He turned away and stood near the door again, his feet urging him to bolt through the curtain and leave but he stopped.

His eyes closed and he turned his face to the wall. He was bare before her as he had without his mask. He felt she could see in him now all the wrong he had ever done and any blood spilt was flowing on the floor.

Erik spoke softly but did not think he was heard. Christine looked up at him, realizing he had moved far away from her.

"I will always be here. This is the only place for which I am fit." Erik's hand hovered over the curtain before he slowly pulled it back.

Christine's voice stopped him.

"He was trying to protect you."

Erik was still and looked back at her, his hand still holding the doorway open.

Christine sat up more at the window and her hands supported her on the cushion as she kneeled.

"Gerard. He kept people away to protect you. That is why he came here today."

Erik sighed, looking away down the steps in front of him. "He will not be coming back."

Christine again spoke with confused worry.

"But he wants to help you. I heard him." Christine added almost as an afterthought, "Still…if no one is brave enough to come down here then why did you become so angry at him?" She felt the same timidity when she spoke to him. Erik had tried to forget she had seen and heard everything that had passed between Gerard and himself while sitting in the cage. He had known she was there and that she was looking down at a different man from.

Erik sighed harshly and stared down helplessly. She needed to see.

"They have reason to, Christine, and they will. Two already have today."

Christine's mind whirred but the name only fluttered through her mind. Something was gripping at her and she felt Erik was steering her toward what she had not heard while he and Gerard had slipped into the room with the brass door.

_Philippe_.

"He does not want to hurt you," Christine whispered. Her tone was pleading and delicate but Erik heard. She refused to believe her friend could cause such destruction for Erik. "He was afraid for me. He did not understand." What the Count had been meant to understand bypassed Erik in his brewing anger at the course of the conversation and left Christine to recall silently what had been interrupted in the forest, any more that Erik said had gone unheard.

Erik had known of her excursion with Philippe after the Bistro but what he did not know was that they had had their own moonlit moment in the forest as well. They had reminisced and walked a great deal as their memories came flooding out. Christine did not deny that in those hours she had been very happy with Philippe and felt a great love and affection for him. With him she could speak of special memories of her father that no one else shared with her. They spoke of him as if he were not long dead but alive and well again, playing his violin by a fireside in some little town nearby.

Their shared kisses had been warm and welcoming. Christine had been unsure of what Philippe's recurring presence in her life would mean and for a time she had felt that his love was sent to complete her. After the death of her father, her dearest companion in life, she had never felt rooted and felt like a wandering ghost wherever she went. Philippe had reminded her of a time when she had been truly happy and slowly felt that happiness creeping back into her life again.

In that forest, she had been convinced of her love for him and was absorbed by his warmth. To her disbelief, that feeling had vanished almost as quickly as she had reconciled with it. The dawn had washed away the stars and fog and the morning light startled her. Philippe had been understanding, though reluctant, in her haste to return to the Opera but her mind too had been swiped clean of the night before and great shame and fear began to devour her.

How long had he waited, she had wondered. He must have been waiting. Her maestro, the man who had guided her voice, the man whom she now called Erik she had then ignored in her time of triumph. While she sat on the edge of her seat in the carriage, she had tried to think of a way to explain her absence but nothing felt right in that moment. She felt such a great need to see him.

She had known the room was empty before the door had shut behind her. She called out for him and got no answer. The piano sat in the corner of the room and she mourned its sound. A chair near the window gave her a sight into possibly only a few hours before. Had he sat there waiting to see her return, she had thought, hoping to share in what was too his success?

It was then that more had become clear to her. To know and feel the pain she had caused the man she had so powerfully come to appreciate and care for had filled her with such a great despair she had not known since the death of her father. The disappointment she felt in herself had been overwhelming and for days she both longed and dreaded their next meeting. The dread and shame was often overridden by the alarming fear that he may never seek her out again.

She had traced the keys of the piano reverently, her hands absorbing the essence his fingers had left. It had helped her feel him with her. The room had been silent but she tried to hear the music in the morning deafness. Tears fell then and she tried to remember when that happiness filled her heart. Philippe reminded her of a past joy with her father but when she sang Erik gave her that joy to carry with her every day and more.

Christine noticed Erik's placid stare and was brought from her reverie. He was aware that she had not heard what he had said.

"Still," Erik said, speaking more matter-of-factly, as if he had mulled over this thought repeatedly, "I have conceded that there is no place for me but here…to be bereaved of light and beauty."

_Like darkness itself, for I am darkness itself. _

Erik said this while walking pensively about the room, staring down at the ground and then looking up as if seeing the sky, his eyes not really seeing. He stopped and his hands came around to clasp behind his back.

"But not you."

Christine looked up at him, still sitting at the window. Her eyes followed him.

"Erik," Christine said uncertainly, hating the pain she heard in his voice. She wanted him to stop with his morbidity but kept silent and waited for him to continue.

Erik turned to look back at her and his hand wavered near his chin as he tried to construct his thoughts.

"Oh, Christine. The world is yours," he said with a forced smile, "Your voice can take you anywhere!" Erik was silent for a moment, finding difficulty in facing the next truth.

"That is what Gerard wanted; for me to return you to the world."

Christine's mouth opened to speak but said nothing, her eyes bore into him deeply.

She only looked back at him when she heard his deep chuckle.

"He talks of drawing the line and where you belong but he does not see what kind of people fill the world. Carlotta poisoned you, I've heard how the chorus girls tease you, and he saw how those people laughed. They behaved like they were a crowd at a public hanging.

Christine's face held the shadow of a smile at the thought of Erik's protectiveness but she felt with Gerard's influence that Erik's fears and hatred for the others in the company were fiendish and a bit unreasonable.

"But Gerard speaks on your behalf. Everyone still hangs on his word surely he could-"

Erik cut her off with a frustrated growl, his hand massaging the back of his neck.

"Surely he could help," she finished, her voice very small.

"And what do I need his help for," Erik asked. His tone took on a hint of amusement and he flashed a crooked smile. The smugness was evident in his voice. It was all she could see beneath the black mask. "There is little I have experienced that I can't handle, Christine."

Christine turned to face him now. Her eyes were narrowed but held no menace, simply purpose.

"There is little I have seen you handle 'amiably', Erik." Her voice was challenging. Silence followed. It was the first time she dared use his name again but she was glad she had. She still enjoyed the sound of it in her voice and felt closer to him when she used it.

Erik's chest swelled with a heavy intake of breath, his entire body felt heavier. He folded his arms and stared, giving no sign that he noticed the use of his name.

His response was slow but definite.

"Yes," he conceded, "Except when it comes to you." Erik's tone was even and deep, no sign of anger but still containing the sharpness of fact.

Christine was quiet but her next words startled Erik, his face behind the mask was astonished.

"Then let me go. Let them see that I am safe. They would have no reason to come."

Erik's eyes were large but his lips were curved in a bemused smile.

"And you think they would just forget do you?" Erik's voice was sarcastic and firm. "You think they would forget the chandelier! Hardly!"

Erik felt his patience leaving him.

Christine met him with equal pointedness. "No one means to hurt you!"

Erik had slowly paced a step or two but stopped to stare at her, his face like stone behind the mask.

"Oh don't they?"

Christine opened her arms in a pleading manner. Her confidence seemed to waver as she tried to make him see her meaning.

"Gerard wants to help. He doesn't want to let anyone down here. You said he kept this place a secret."

Erik waved his hand dismissively and continued to pace around the room. He moved as though he did not know what to do with himself.

"Oh he makes bargains and promises without the means to keep them and frankly I've had enough of his optimism! Bide me time? He doesn't have time to spare!"

In truth, Erik was started by his waning faith in Gerard. Little by little Erik had begun to realize how much more he relied on himself that on the man who had once protected him. Time was passing and soon it would run out for Gerard. The man had no title and lessening influence in the Opera House . Erik knew that if a mob wanted to come down and chase him, they would plow through Gerard to see the Opera ghost finished at last. There was little Gerard could do and Erik did not want to wait for what he knew would not come.

_There is little time you can give me, old man._

"More will come, Christine. Because you are here more will come and he will have no help for me then."

Christine did not understand Erik's great contempt for the man who had the strongest connection to Erik that she had seen. Gerard had told her so much that there was more to this man's role in Erik's life.

The portrait of a young, fair woman wearing Christine's dress looked down at the pair and her face was stoic as she seemed to overhear their conversation.

In the silence it was almost as if Philippe's voice were still echoing from when he had called out her name. Christine was sure it could still be heard in the forest; the plaster animals would turn their heads at the sound.

Erik's faint, pitiful chuckle overlapped it.

"Time," he said, "that was all I needed. I ask the old man 'give me time'." There was a woefully amused smile on Erik's face, it gave way to the bitterness of what is felt when a wish or desire is obviously out of reach. Erik's words ended with him slapping his hands on his thighs as in surrender. His next words were firm but somber.

"Time for you, Christine. I wanted time for you to see all that I am and to make you happy."

Christine looked at him, her eyes shining.

Erik's voice grew more and more humble as he continued.

"Was it so much to think that perhaps you could be happy here with me?" He said this without looking at her. He faced toward a wall.

Before Christine could speak, an expectant look on her face, Erik spoke again, extinguishing the light his question had brought to her. She recalled that she had nearly expressed to Erik her willingness to stay with him before Philippe arrived. Predictably, this same thought had triggered more of Erik's self-berating.

"Of course it was! How blind was I? To think to keep you down here when you have so much above."

Standing, Christine looked at Erik and pulled him to face her with her eyes. Before being hurtled back through the forest, provoked by Philippe's call, Erik's accusation had burned her. She wanted to make this clear.

"It's Philippe," Christine said, "it's him you're worried about isn't it?"

Erik's guffaw echoed outside the window against the walls.

"No please," Christine pursued, "He came down here on his own and now he knows how to find you. But please, Erik, he is only concerned for me."

"Nevertheless he was an intruder in me home!"

Erik's voice was stable and did not quake under the intensity his eyes gave away. When he spoke again his voice remained even but at a smoother tone.

"And he certainly has a habit for bad timing."

Christine's determination did not waver.

"I did not lead him here," she said. Erik looked her up and down. She stood still with her hands frozen at her sides, but they seemed to shake. Her face was taut.

"You did, Christine," he said without conviction, "You were here with me and so he came. I do not blame you," he added. Erik too recalled what he had thought when his maskless face had looked at her but heard the Count's voice in the distance. That flicker of betrayal had dimmed since that moment but at the time had flared in him like a cannon.

"There will be no end to it," Erik said.

Christine moved over to him and placed her hand on his arm. He had been facing away from her. She realized that when he was deep in thought he took in his surroundings and seemed to draw away from her. She tried to make him look at her.

"Let me try. I can go to him and he would not try to-"

Erik pulled away from her angrily. He had not recoiled at her touch. In fact, she had noticed his forearm muscle loosen under her hand but he moved away with a hopeless huff.

"I've already said. The Count is no threat alone but he has the managers and police behind him to make sure I never take you from him again."

Erik was aware that he too was trying to do the same thing in regard to the Count but he did not voice it.

Christine continued for several moments to convince Erik to send her to Philippe and as each word was spoken his eyes grew darker.

_She wants to be with him. She is trying to make an excuse to get away to him._

Christine spoke of his kindness and how his friendship held a palpable trust and loyalty but it all registered to Erik as words of adoration.

"Regardless of your obvious favor to the Count my rule still stands." There was a loud bang. Both of them turned toward the sound and Erik went to the door. Christine felt they had backtracked and any hope of coaxing Erik into agreement was gone.

"Rule?"

Erik turned back toward her and said even more firmly and he spat. "You have seen my face! And therefore you will remain here! No one who sees my face is allowed to leave!"

Erik pulled back the curtain and Christine began to say more but Erik cut her off.

"NO!" Erik roared and there was another loud crash.

"Stay here," Erik said firmly and went down the stairs toward the main atrium of the lair near the edge of the lake.

He heard dainty footsteps behind him and turned at the sound of Christine's voice. She was loud and her voice resembled mild hysterics.

"I cannot believe he would let them come down to find you, Erik. I cannot!"

Christine had followed him and was coming down the stairs, her voice strained and her eyes glossy.

The thumping and banging continued behind him and Erik tried to dismiss her again.

"I told you to stay in the room, Christine. Stay back." He tried to turn away again.

"Erik!"

He stopped. His name was a strangled cry and her eyes were narrowed though her lip now trembled. Erik listened. For a moment the loud sounds ceased.

"If you cannot accept that something can be done then it is no wonder Gerard could not help you!"

"He wanted to take you back!" Erik's temper was evident now and his breathing escalated. She said nothing but stared at him. The question of her return had been stifled for the time being but now he faced it head on. His law said she could never leave, she had seen his face. But he knew that if he made the choice for her, everything would be lost.

Erik spoke softly, his anger broken and his hands lay open at his sides, like ladles allowing the words to spill out.

"I could not let him take you back. Not there. I…I still hear them yelling."

Christine felt the sadness in Erik's voice. The brokenness he showed was like that she had felt to return to the Opera House after the bistro to find him gone. In both ways she had disappointed him and she felt a twang of guilt. The voice Erik trained stifled by an herbal poison, clogging her throat and leaving her breathless before a sea of angered and jeering patrons. She still heard the echoes of Erik's cries over the audiences roar.

"The world is not fit for one such as you. I fear no one can see how beautiful you are," Erik said.

Christine felt her heart warm at his words. She felt as she had before she had known his name and they had been having lessons together. He sounded like her teacher again and she felt that blanket of protection his words and comfort always seemed to spread around her.

Erik did not also specify that in his thoughts also dwelled the Count. Philippe had been flouncing around the Opera House for years with different young girls in the company. The entourage of women who greeted him during his visits was crude and everyone he met shouted his name with mirth. To Erik it was laughable to think that Christine would be any different and he would take her beauty to its fill. The thought made Erik's nerves tighten with anger.

Christine spoke softly, an air of doubt was in her voice, as if she were unsure of what she said.

"I am not afraid, Erik; not of them. I know that I have friends up above." She paused then finished her thought. "I think they can see beauty in me too." There was a trace of a smile on her lips at the thought of the others she had met since her arrival. Jean-Claude's plump, grinning face flashed in her mind.

Erik's next words were a very stern whisper.

"There are those who can see beauty, Christine, and there are those who see it in the wrong light. Sometimes there is no light at all."

Christine recalled Erik's words from one of their previous lessons, when she had thought him to be sent by Philippe to give her lessons.

_He is not worthy of you._

"Erik, I swear to you that Philippe would do you no harm. If you would only let-"

Another loud noise interrupted her and it was just as Erik had shook his head dismissively.

"Go back, Christine." But she persisted.

"Erik, please!"

"I said NO!"

Christine folded her arms and turned away angrily. "Clearly," was all she said.

"What?"

She whipped around and said in a voice laced with fury, "Clearly this is something you cannot handle."

With two strides he was beside her, clutching her by the shoulders and pushing his face close to her, his words spitting out with such viciousness she tried to push him away with a cry. With his gentle voice so contorted with anger the black mask leered at her like the face of a demon. As if the dark porcelain stemmed down into his soul, blackening his heart, she did not know the fiery beast in front of her. The feel of his breath on her skin seemed to burn her and she continued to fight his grasp.

"Look, Christine! LOOK at the face you wanted to see! You asked to see it and now it is all you will see!"

Christine pawed at his collar, trying to push him away but he held her tighter, his hands gripping her behind her shoulder blades. His voice seemed to wisp through her ears.

"Oh he'll come back again, Christine, but I swear to you he has seen nothing compared to what I can do. You saw him writhe at the bottom of my boat. Well how would it do to see him still at the bottom of my lake! Do not test me with what I can and cannot do, Christine. Blame him. Blame him! If not for him I would have been willing to give you the light even though you have seen my face!"

As Christine fought him, she looked into the face with his dark mask and felt a surge of rage at the sight of it. More than anything she wanted to rip it off of him and felt her hands reach for it.

Erik felt her hands on his face and with a roar he pulled her aside and loosened his grasp on the shoulders of her dress. She stumbled and her footing was gone. With a quickly muffled shriek, Christine fell backward into the chilly water of the underground lake, the splash of water sending drips onto Erik's hands and a few on his neck. Christine resurfaced, gasping for air with her wet hair wrapped around her face.

A barrel floated nearby and Erik looked to see several bobbing around behind her. He now knew what that loud noise had been. The gunpowder barrels had collapsed and rolled into the lake.

**I would like to again thank all my readers and reviewers for their support and as a token of my appreciation ****I am offering the chance for you all to name this chapter! **

**Yes you are reading this right! As you can see this chapter's name is unannounced so I have decided to let my readers help me choose a good title! I value the opinion of my readers and those of you who have kept up with me so far have had very good responses! All you have to do is submit a review or personal message if that is your prerogative with a name for the chapter and a short explanation as to why you would choose this name. The title chosen will be the one I feel reflects the events of this chapter best and will be announced when Chapter 7 is posted! If you want to get an idea, take a look at how my previous chapters were named and see if anything comes to mind. Thank you and good luck! Feel free to check for updates on my blog as well as on my profile. **


	7. Amusing

**Congratulations to LadyCavalier for submitting the best title suggestion for Chapter 6! Her reviews were packed with inspiration and I thought she had the most passionate and fitting suggestions. Thank you to all of you who have sent me ideas for chapters and if I decide to use them in the future chapters I will of course pay credit to your great suggestions! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I wanted this one to be a little comical relief contrasting to the dramatics of the story so far! As always feedback is appreciated and thank you all for your support! **

"All He Needs:

By: TheBatgirl31

Chapter 7: Amusing

Erik laughed. He laughed heartily and fully. From the tension that had been circuiting between them a moment before it seemed odd to hear the rich, joyous sound. Christine sputtered and splashed in the water, her hands reaching for the ledge to pull herself back up. Her dress took in the water and tried to pull her back down but Erik grabbed her under the arms and heaved her out, the warm humidity was a comfort to her chilled skin. Christine shivered and ran shaking fingers through her sopping, stringy hair and tried to push it out of her face when Erik shrouded her in a thick, black cloak that seemed to have just appeared.

As he tied the drawstrings under her chin and padded down her arms, Erik looked into Christine's crestfallen face, her eyes looking down and away from him. Her lip trembled slightly, though from tears or from the cold he could not distinguish. She coughed lightly twice and sniffled as she stroked her arms under the cloak. For a moment, Erik froze and thought to kiss her.

Instead, he lifted her chin to meet his gaze and her eyes were wide and now slightly bloodshot from the dip. Her face was as timid and childlike as ever and when she sniffled again Erik could not suppress the light, adoring chuckle that escaped him and pulled her against his chest for a moment. Surprisingly he held no fear of her pulling away from him. His arms held her tightly and stroked her back to generate more warmth for her. Christine rested her head on Erik's shoulder though her hands were still wrapped tightly around herself. Her nostrils began to clear and she suddenly took in a whiff of scent from Erik's cloak. It smelled as if it had just sifted a crisp breeze through the material and a faint smell of hearth mixed in. There was a slight spice she detected and, turning her head, it became stronger. Inhaling at Erik's neck, Christine noted the slightest trace of the familiar scent of tobacco mingled with a thin layer of a spicy oil. She inhaled deeply and comfortably swam in his essence, nestling her head at his neck.

Erik felt her nose tickle the skin of his neck and he held her there for a few moments. He knew he had to take her to dry clothes but he simply stood there with her in his arms, as if there had been no pain before, no hurtful truths. Admittedly, Erik felt tremendous weight lifted with what he had told her. There was a silent compliance he felt between them. However, Erik saw more problems ahead of him.

Gerard had left under the impression that Christine would remain or leave of her own consent, that with time Erik would allow her to make a decision. But in his anger, Erik had desperately gone back on his word in a drastic attempt to prolong their time together. She expected to remain as a penalty for probing Erik's patience. His heart fell as if he had been caught in his lie. And he would be. Gerard would not be kept at bay. Erik knew him well.

Pushing these thoughts away, Erik closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Despite his attempted trance, he could not empty his mind of the battle between what he knew would be and what had just transpired.

A thought occurred to him them; a way to keep his original promise. Christine would have her choice after all. And she would return to the light.

Nikolai coughed heavily and raggedly into the sleeve of his jacket, mucus congealing in his throat as he hacked and spat. Too many years of tobacco and alcohol had soured his body and his lungs did not set well with the thick air of the Opera's lower cellars.

Paris was not his city, nor would it ever be. He had been forced from his beloved Russia after a bitter marriage separation in his twenties. His wife, Anitchka Dmitriovna, had been an unrelenting weight at the end of a very short chain. Nikolai often termed it as a leash. Six years of marriage had gone by in a blink of an eye, filled with confusion and cold stares. The next four were a hazy cloud of months with a brown tint from the whiskey Nikolai had grown fond of to drown out Anitchka's belittling shrieks. His _duscha _had a mind for condescension and a mouth to reinforce it.

Nikolai had always been fond of his brother-in-law, Stepan, who had introduced them three years before the marriage was eventually arranged, and they had remained on good terms even when Anitchka had taken to sleeping in a separate room. Nikolai had truly loved his wife and had been overjoyed at their union but he had always tried to make good of the fact that Stepan had only arranged the marriage to get his sister out of his house. She, however, accepted that fact with bitterness and professed hatred toward any aspect of their married life, her volume growing exponentially as the years passed.

Almost thirty years ago, Nikolai had packed in the night and slipped out of his home, boarding a train to the furthest city he could afford passage to. Berlin had become his sanctuary and eventually he made his way to Paris, hoping to compare it to the finery he had seen in Germany. Nikolai had been in for a bitter disappointment. Although the land was beautiful, he felt that Paris was a city for vice and indulgence. He passed drunks in the street who claimed to be painters and scantily clad women on the arms of finely dressed men of state who bragged about being dancers. He had always longed for his homeland but refused to return to where his life would be bound to that impossible creature for the rest of his life. He assumed at that point that his good standing with Stepan had evaporated and that negotiation on a proper divorce was out of the question. So Nikolai lived the life of a fugitive.

In Berlin he had served as a chauffeur for fine carriages. In Paris he cleaned the occasional chimney and roamed at his disclosure. Memories of his plight sought comfort through endless evenings warming to a mug of thick, burning whiskey or rum. On the rare occasion, such as his birthday, he indulged in wine, but that was a luxury he seldom allowed himself.

Tonight had been warm with a nonexistent breeze. Nikolai had stumbled upon a back door to the Opera House and made his way inside.

"_Kooshite govno ee oomeeite _you sad fools. I'd like to spit on this place for your artistic crap!"

The staircase he came across was long and slightly spiraled downward. The air from below was cool on his face so he continued on. Unexpectedly, the further down he climbed, the hotter and more humid the breeze became until it seemed there was no air at all. Nikolai loosened his shirt and had begun to heave and cough. The air had grown thicker and the alcohol he felt clouding his vision and softening his legs began to stir him. He staggered further down, hoping to find the source of the pleasant breeze he had felt.

Nikolai discovered the end of the steps and realized he was plunged in complete darkness. He waved his hand in front of his face and could not see it. He knew it was there because he was staggering and slapped himself. On unsteady feet, Nikolai groped around and his heart began to shrivel as fear began to swarm in on him. He wondered how he would ever get out.

Suddenly, he felt his fingertips glide over wood. He groped around more desperately until he was able to fasten both hands over it. Its rotundness gave him the impression that it was a barrel but the darkness would not allow him to be sure.

Sliding his fingers up carefully, Nikolai felt for the flat surface of the top of the barrel and found it. He was grateful since his legs were increasingly unsteady under the influence of liquor and much less useful in a boiling, black basement where he found himself. Clumsily, Nikolai made to sit down on top of the barrel but knocked it over and fell flat on his rear. There was a loud banging noise followed by a full sound of tumbling lumber. Nikolai tried to stand but the fear began to overtake him again, not reinforced by the fear of being discovered as a trespasser. He now groped for a wall to follow as more loud crashes came from behind him.

He was sweating when he tripped over uneven ground and realized he had found the bottom of the steps. Without hesitation he began to climb. The last thing he heard was faint splashing of water and a raised voice down in the further end of the cellar.

The Opera House was quiet, at least above ground. The dormitories were now packed with restless company members gossiping about their day and dreading another grueling rehearsal the following day. The manager's lounge, which had become Madame Carlotta's dressing room, still had the lamps lit even as the hour grew late.

Carlotta herself sat at her _toilette_ in front of the mirror, brushing a new fragrant into her thick curly hair. The feel of the brush was soothing and she smiled widely and contentedly, humming.

A tin cup of wine sat on her side table, a quarter of the way filled and her lips still tasted of the tangy concoction. She paid no notice to it as she had had her fill for the evening. It had not crossed her mind that this cup was a set with the one still upset on Christine's dressing table.

Just then, her husband announced his arrival. She heard the faint flutter of papers in his hand, no doubt to join the stack accumulating on his desk.

"Can you believe this?" Choleti shouted. "That _Phantom_ is killing us!"

Carlotta did not respond. She continued to hum happily, her cup reflecting beside her in the mirror. For a moment she caught sight of it and smiled.

Her husband joined her in the room. His hair was slicked back tightly and his mustache curled at the sides. His crème suit was bright against his Italian skin.

"He's-a all anyone's talking about!

Carlotta looked at her husband in the reflection. "As long as people are talking what does it matter?"

Choleti's frustration was obvious. He came and took a knee beside his wife, showing her what he had brought in. It was a copy of a contract with the designer for the new chandelier. There was a long figured number at the bottom of the page.

"Zee problem is that no one is talking about Opera! All anyone can think about is ze accident!"

Carlotta adored her husband but she often became exasperated when he was flustered. His English became more and more corroded.

Choleti looked at the paper and quoted from it.

"Monsieur we wish to acknowledge your request to make a hasty replacement for your chandelier but we fear it will create further complications. Please note that the quoted price will have to modified upon delivery. Thank you for your patience and we look forward to negotiating further near the end of next month."

Choleti crumpled the paper and threw it. "Until I get a new chandelier ve cannot open for another month! Oh zis _ghost_ is going to ruin me!"

Carlotta's mood allowed her to pay the optimist. She turned away from her mirror and followed her husband into the other room.

"My darling, you forget. The new chandelier will bring new crowds. The seats will be filled again soon."

Again Choleti exploded in a thrust of agitated foreboding.

"It's still not good publicity! No one cares about opera! Zey only care because they think zis place is 'aunted!"

Carlotta sat beside him on the long lounge chair. She twirled the end of his whiskers with the tip of her finger, her smile never fading.

"My dear, they will still _come_. If they want the ghost," she leaned in closer, her voice a daring whisper, "zen give them the ghost."

With that, she stood and walked back to her mirror, Choleti remained sitting, his arms crossed tightly as he thought.

Carlotta laughed warmly but it ended with a shocked yell as she made to sit on her stool but misjudged the distance, toppling over backward. Her flailing hand upset her wash basin and her delicately brushed, freshly perfumed head landed in a puddle of her lukewarm, graying bathwater.

**Hello readers! This Chapter was one I really felt flow and am really proud of it and hope you feel it contributes well to my story. I also hope you liked getting to meet Nikolai. He was a character I've been toying with for a while. Also I thought I should apologize if my Russian is incorrect. It is not my native language and my main source for the translation was the internet so I apologize if I am incorrect. What Nikolai means to say as he enters through the back door of the Opera is **

"_**Eat shit and die you sad fools!"**_** Deep huh?**

**And the word **_**duscha is a term of endearment like Sweetheart. **_

**Also, I understand my attempt at Choleti's Italian accent is poor. I will work on that dutifully.**

**P.S. Another little shout out to LadyCavalier for her passionate reviews. Thank you for making me feel the love! You get to wear Erik's cape today!**


	8. Persuasion

"All He Needs"

By: TheBatgirl31

Chapter 8: Persuasion

**Another note of thanks to LadyCavalier who submitted a great suggestion for a chapter title. This Chapter's name was her creation and I really appreciate all the thought she put into it. I hope you all feel that what you find in this chapter reflects her title as well as I did. **

The fire flickered in the small room, illuminating it as well as daylight. Christine felt her hair begin to bush and thicken and her cheeks were blushing in the glow of the hearth's rays. Strange shadows were cast across her face and her large blue eyes seemed to reflect the firelight.

His cloak still wrapped around her shoulders, Erik leaned in a corner of the room staring at her outline in the canvas of flames in front of her. Again she was not aware of his presence in the room with her. As she had been at the window, she now stared away with her back to him as he stood near the wall.

She had not been in this room before. It was further down the tunnel near the room where he kept his piano and the entrance to the forest. The walls were gray limestone, aged from dampness and poorly circulated air. There was about ten feet from the door to the furthest wall where the large hearth was carved. It was wide enough to home flames high enough to scorch the stone of the ceiling. Erik had often thought this room felt more like a cave.

A square rug covered most of the floor, decorated with floral wreaths. There was no furniture since the diameter of the room did not accommodate anything to Erik's liking. He had never enjoyed the time spent in this almost hidden room when he had used it as a child. When he had decided to wear a mask the sensitive skin of his face has not taken to the constant weight of the mask and it had often been irritated and infected. This was where Erik had taken to hiding during the days when he would allow the skin to heal and would be without the mask. The fireplace had been an indifferent comfort to him. No matter how long he sat in front of the fire of even if he moved to another hiding place, the embers would always continue to burn.

Now the embers seemed to be alive and Erik knew why. As Christine watched the flames, they moved as if dancing for her. She brought life to this secluded spot where nothing had ever been before. For a very long time she did not look back and knew nothing of Erik's gaze upon her.

The brightness of the flames in the small room did not hurt Christine's eyes. She saw different shapes and colors in the fire that entranced her. Beside the large fireplace her silhouette was large against the opposite wall and anything near her would appear just as enormous. Christine did not notice the shape of a large figure approach behind her shadowy outline on the wall and the touch of a delicate hand on her shoulder made her entire body clench.

She did not turn away from the fire but closed her eyes tightly. Erik knelt behind her and slowly his other hand came to rest on her left shoulder. Christine did not want to turn to look at him. She knew he still wore the black mask she so hated. In the consuming firelight that mask would blend with the shadows and all she would see was the jagged markings and the deep holes where his eyes should be. She did not want to look yet her mind was swamped with the lingering feel of his body's warmth from when he had held her. Her forehead creased with hurt at the sparked memory of their harshly exchanged words. It was as if his voice still boomed in her ears and her body went rigid with defiance.

Erik's fingertips stroked gently at the top of her neck and she found herself leaning toward his hand slightly. When she felt his fingers pulling under her chin she resisted and her jaw clenched. Erik was trying to turn her head and she was refusing. Christine tried to turn the opposite way to pull away from his fingers but he leaned over further and now had both hands grasping at her face. His hands were on her cheeks and she raised her arms to push them away from her. She began to slap and fight him away, her folded feet were now extended to the side as she leaned further and further away.

Behind her Erik grunted with effort and his breathing got heavier. Christine gathered her legs under her and made to stand but Erik grasped her under the ears and forced her head back and turned her to face him. Her eyes were wide with fear as she looked up at him but they softened at the sight of Erik's face. His own face. The mask she hated was gone. He wore no mask at all.

It was a complete reflection of what she had seen on their picnic. The skin was pale, in some places transparent over a slightly jutting bone. Pink scars crossed over one another underneath his eyes. Similar marks were just above his lip. Christine saw these lines must have outlined years of wearing a mask. The skin on his forehead cracked as if with decay, yellow and browning patches of skin lined raw blotches. His chin and jaw were the only areas untouched by his deformity. The lips were a healthy pink and smooth. Small hairs jutted out of his chin, which were usually shaved. Christine thought the night must have passed as she had sat in front of the fire.

Erik gulped as her eyes took him in. His lips were parted and took in heavy, soundless breaths. He waited for her face to change; to see her eyes widen in fear, her mouth turn down in a disgusted cringe, her stomach to release bile into his lap, anything that might have been different from how she had looked at him before.

This was how she would make her choice. He appeared before her without his mask so she could see everything he was. Soon he would include her in his intentions but now was when he showed her all that she would have should she choose Erik.

Erik's eyes never left her and they remained in that way for a long time.

Erik felt hands on his face. The fingers traced across his cracked forehead and down over his misshapen nose. They parted at his chin and slowly rubbed against his stubbly jaw. He sighed as the hands combed across the back of his neck and then drew upwards to run through his hair. Erik gasped inwardly until he found the words. With trembling hands, he reached back and pulled Christine's hands away and held them between the two of them. His eyes had drifted shut but when he opened them to speak he bitterly regretted pulling her hands away. Her face was suddenly very close to his and she was leaning toward him on her knees.

"All that I am is this. And you are so much more." Erik gulped for air. He shuddered.

"I am selfish. Please, forgive me. But I am still a man who keeps his word."

The fire crackled loudly in the room as Erik breathed in heavily before speaking again. His trembling hand came to rest on her cheek. At first he had been afraid she would recoil but she let his right hand trace across he cheek. She almost didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were focused on him.

"You may go as you please but-"Erik stopped short but the words flew out of him desperately. "Let me hear you sing. You must sing for me-once more."

Christine's eyes grew wide and hopeful, leaning even closer and she made to speak but Erik shushed her. She listened with a longing glow in her eyes. Erik was afraid to know what made that look come to her face but he did not ask. He continued.

"You must- you must do this one last thing for me, Christine, if I do this for you."

Christine said nothing, a warm and trusting look on her face. She nodded and listened as Erik explained his plans.

In the late hours Gerard had not been able to find Philippe. He had not seen him since the day before and he was beginning to worry. A few scene shifters had recalled seeing the Count watching their installment of the new backdrop but he had disappeared after they had gone on their break. Gerard had not gone home all night.

He had returned to his old office in the early hours of the morning. Choleti would not be in until nearly noon and it was only going on ten. Surely he would not mind him sitting in his old chair. The room looked about the same as it had always been. A tall cabinet stood near the window behind the desk, a bookshelf on the opposite side. The desk itself was nearly as wide as the window and had a red, velvet signing tablet in the center. More bookshelves sat against the other walls which were papered white with thin red stripes. Gerard had never cared for that choice of decoration. He thought it looked like clown pants.

He sank heavily into his big chair and took a few deep swallows of air. It was a moment he was grateful to be alone. As he regained his breath and straightened his arthritic knees he felt the weight of his age creeping up on him. The years were passing him and soon he did not think he would be around to see many more of them.

A piece of something white stood out to him against the deep red of the writing slab. It was an envelope. Gerard picked it up and turned it over. Gerard recognized the seal and tore it open.

Gerard read that letter at least five times before getting up.

The steady murmur of activity had begun to buzz in the building as morning rituals began. By midday the ballet corps was on the stage with the orchestra working on their times with the dance. The stage hands were at their perches and dangled in the air pulling ropes and aiming different arrangements of lights onto the stage.

The Opera employed over eighty maids and male servants who worked to maintain the building's splendor. Performance night or not, every day every seat in the auditorium was dusted and armrests were polished. The gap in the ceiling where the chandelier once hung, as well as the charred debris below it, had been brushed away like soot on the floor. New velvet seats had been ordered to be installed and streams of craftsmen and glass builders had been coming in and out to inspect the prospects for a replacement chandelier. The morning was busy and Choleti arrived with Carlotta just past noon. Gerard felt like he had been without sleep much longer than he really had. He followed them into the converted manager's lounge and Choleti greeted him with displeased cordiality. Gerard walked past him and went to stand before Carlotta who was seated on the long lounge sofa against the wall.

"Madame," Gerard began, "I wish to speak with you on a rather urgent matter."

Carlotta was sitting upright, leaning on her parasol. She smiled widely and unpleasantly, bemused.

"What could possibly be so urgent at so early in the day?"

Gerard was patient and returned a polite chuckle. Choleti stood beside him looking suspicious and inwardly annoyed at how Gerard had not asked to address his wife properly. He remained silent. Gerard only half noticed him.

"Forgive me, Madame, but the Opera is an unpredictable business. As you well know," he added amiably although the thoughts of the Opera Ghost added a great deal of tension.

"And vot is it now," said Choleti, agitation and slight worry creeping into his voice.

Gerard pulled the letter he had found in his old office out and held it so Carlotta could see. Her faced paled and Choleti's seemed to redden with the color lost from his wife's face.

"More demands?" Choleti said in a strangled fury. Carlotta merely stared at the envelope and waited for Gerard to continue He continued to only address Carlotta.

"Actually, Madame, it is a request." He held out the envelope for her to take. Her black gloved hand was hesitant to take it but she grabbed it from him and began to pull out the paper and read it. Gerard told her what the letter said, knowing she was only staring at the handwriting.

At the second mentioning of the Opera Ghost Choleti began to pace and mumble in incoherent Italian. English was lost to him when he was under stress.

"The Opera Ghost has agreed to supply the funds for the replacement chandelier in exchange for a favor. He has already promised a down payment of 50,000 francs and offers more for the wages of the craftsmen. He states repeatedly that his wealth and support has no bounds."

Choleti was nearly beside himself. "Of course ee is! He's offering to pay with MY money!" Choleti still baffled at the sums he was expected to pay for the Opera Ghost's monthly salary. Now to support the cost of the chandelier the money was to be returned to him in exchange for another service. He did not like that he was being treated like a compromised employee in his own business. Carlotta put the letter down and looked up at Gerard skeptically.

"What does he want?" was all she said.

Gerard had rehearsed this during the hours he had spent waiting for them to arrive. Suddenly he had less confidence that this conversation would end well, not to mention in Erik's plan for negotiation.

"He wants Mademoiselle Christine Daae to have a second debut. He did not feel her first performance was satisfactory and wishes for her to sing again."

For Carlotta the room spun. She looked away from Gerard and the colors of the furniture and the wallpaper suddenly ran together. She looked down at the letter in her lap with the intricate, curling handwriting and found she could only distinguish one word.

_Christine_.

Carlotta could hear her husband speak but heard nothing.

Choleti scoffed. "Zee girl crumbled under zee pressure. She cannot sing and she _will_ not sing." Choleti came up to Gerard and grabbed the letter from Carlotta, shoving it under Gerard's nose. Gerard could smell his appalling cologne.

"You tell zis ghost that the next time he 'ears Christine sing vill be in-"

"Stop!"

Both men looked at Carlotta who was standing now. Her eyes never left Gerard as she came to stand by him. She snatched the letter back from her husband without looking at him. She crumpled the letter back into Gerard's hand and crossed her arms.

"I approve."

**What do you think? Am I being true to the story? Am I being too general? Too fast? Not enough detail? Not enough dialogue? Do you like where this is going? I really do value the opinions of my readers. Please feel free to leave me your comments in a review or in a message. Thanks again for reading. I want to keep more chapters coming even though I am back in school. Thanks again for your support and I look forward to your comments?**


	9. Barrels and Barrels

"All He Needs"

By: TheBatgirl31

Chapter 9: Barrels and Barrels

Carlotta said little and did little for the rest of the day. She had dismissed Gerard and had brushed off her husband, despite his boisterous confusion and demands for an explanation.

_I have another reason for doing this, so ask no more_, was what he had said to her when he had given Christine to role of Marguerite. She now had her own reason for adhering to the Opera Ghost's demands.

_For now._

Carlotta returned home before her husband that night. She was unsure whether or not he had even been aware of her departure. He had been in a fume with her all afternoon and had skillfully avoided her.

The carriage passed through the main gates of their home while there was still a little sun left in the sky. The mansion was ablaze in the deep summer sun just setting behind the trees. Roses planted all along the garden walls and draped over trellises resembled fire as the petals caught the evening light. She could see the shadows of servants passing freshly lit hearths in the upstairs bedrooms and it was a comforting thought. It was a chilly night.

Carlotta's salon was bright with pink wallpaper that had pastel lilies lining the corners. The window looked out over their garden which had deep red rose bushes and various pink bulbs shrouding the garden gate. Carlotta sat at her mirror as two of her maids came in to help her into her longing dress. They unpinned her hat and hung up her dress and shawl while Carlotta delicately removed her jewelry pieces and lay them out on the table. She chose her black and maroon house dress with the looser corset and lace sleeves. The maids laid out her slippers and offered her a cup of tea to appease her since she arrived before their usual late dinner hour. Carlotta denied with little interest but requested to be notified when her husband's carriage arrived. The maids curtsied out of the room quickly and left her in peace.

Carlotta thought about the letter that Gerard had showed her and about who had supposedly sent it. She had never voiced this thought, but Carlotta had always been skeptical of Monsieur Carriere's neutrality between her husband's new management and the Opera Ghost. There had been a time when she had even thought him to be the Ghost himself, conspiring under another name to spite the termination of his job. Christine herself had claimed that her teacher had always worn a mask and never given a name. It only seemed obvious that it be Gerard trying to conceal his true identity and using the girl to replace Carlotta as the new diva. It had made sense but now she thought differently.

Gerard had been manager in the Paris Opera for decades and well known in the art society. He had influence with the staff as well as with the patrons without having to resort to a false name. He didn't need to be the ghost to get what he wanted. Carlotta was sure he was involved with the Ghost but in a different way.

The memory of the man who had come and poured a case full of rats over her still played over in her mind. She shook her head and ran her fingers protectively through her curls and over her cheeks. No. It had to be someone else. She planned to find out who.

The Ghost wanted to hear Christine sing again and was willing to do business with the managers he had sought to torment since their arrival to achieve this for her. His risk was great therefore his guard was down. Now, she knew, was the time to strike.

Outside the wheels of Choleti's carriage made tracks in the gravel pathway. Carlotta went to the window and looked down towards the gate. Her husband had arrived and was surely still uneasy with her.

She would tell him of her plan and she would show him why it was vital from now on they humor the wishes of the Opera Ghost.

Philippe had remained in the box five seat for a long time, not noticing how the day had passed. The stage was empty and he had watched as the maids came, did a quick dust and polish, and then left him alone in the grand auditorium. A surprised usher had stuck his head behind the curtain and asked Philippe is he could be of any assistance. Philippe told him he just wanted a place to sit. He was waiting for someone. The usher bowed out respectfully and that was the last person Philippe saw.

As he sat there, he thought about what he had seen down in the cellars: Christine dangling above the ground in a cage, the masked man carrying a sword, the lingering, uneasy pressure against his throat as the Phantom's boot cut off his air. Suddenly he felt useless.

The woman who had stirred a love in him like no other had before was being held in a dungeon by a man with no face and he had been able to do nothing to bring her to safety. A wave of hopelessness started to engulf him and he had hunched further in his seat, staring at nothing, but only seeing her face. The fear he had seen in her made him feel broken. To know that she was within reach but to go to her brought on such great risk.

Philippe had seen the barrels of gunpowder lined up in a pyramid in the dungeon. There was enough explosive there to eliminate any semblance of life for miles. If Philippe tried to recover her again so many lives would be destroyed. Suddenly the weight of the pistols concealed about him hung down on him and seemed to drag him closer to the floor.

And what of the mask? The Phantom wore a mask and murdered any who lay eye upon it. Philippe wondered who he was. His face was surely hidden to keep him safe from the law. He must be a wanted man.

Slowly Philippe stood. His mind only vaguely aware of the idea that had just sprung into his head and his body even less aware of where his feet were taking him. He swept past the box's separating curtain and down the main staircase at the end of the line of corridors. There was a statue of a woman in Egyptian garb holding up a torch in the center of the main atrium. When he had first gone down to look for Christine he had seen it turn and the wall had opened to a long staircase. This time it would not turn to open for him. Philippe was not phased.

He exited through the main doors and headed towards the servants' quarters entrance.

Philippe's descent seemed much longer than it had before. The darkness thickened as he moved on. The chill from the open door behind him was gone and the air grew humid. The dampness and the rising heat from the lagoon told him that he was getting closer. If his memory served him right, he would easily be able to find what he was looking for.

The barrels had been stacked neatly in a pyramid near one of the back walls across the underground lake where Philippe had encountered the Ghost for the first time. The real man as he seemed had worn a mask to hide his true face. This only made it more clear to Philippe that he was indeed a wanted man, a fugitive.

Suddenly there were no more steps and Philippe was alone in the darkness. The evening light from the open cellar doors did not reach this far so Philipp's eyes strained and squinted to see into the shadows. He moved forward confidently despite his inability to see clearly. His previous descent had required him to go through the lake tunnels and enter through the main room of the Phantom's caverns. Now he was unsure of his exact location in the basement level so he had to tread carefully and be sure not to stumble across anything that might give away his presence.

Philippe held out his one hand for a wall to guide him while the other reached inside his coat for the pistol. He only half wished he had reached for a matchbox that might help him light the path but he felt greater assurance from the touch of the metal pistols than the sight of a dim light.

Philippe's hand groped in the air and felt nothing, but his forehead soon did. While he had walked straight into the guiding wall he had been searching for, his hand had wandered through and discovered an open archway that lead to another room. Philippe remained still for a moment, listening to see if his grunt of surprise had alerted any unwelcome company.

Slowly he continued along the wall again and soon saw a faint, turquoise glow ahead of him. His feet moved even more slowly now and he suspected he might be going the wrong way. Before he turned back, he looked and saw that the glow was coming from a familiar place.

He had come back to the underground lair where he had found Christine. The first thing that caught his eyes was the large cage where Christine had been held. It was empty and dangling only a foot or so above the ground.

Philippe peered around but did his best to remain out of sight. After all, he had no idea where they were and did not want to provoke the Phantom's threats further. His mind drifted back to the barrels and he became more determined to find them. Openly he admitted with himself that his plan was in all worlds juvenilely simplistic and by no means fool-proof. However, the logic behind it was undeniable.

The gunpowder in the barrels proved a pending danger, especially in such a quantity. The brilliance in Philippe's plan was that the counter for such a threat was in such close proximity: the lake. If the powder were soaked then it would lose its explosive potential, thus eliminating the Phantom's capability to diminish the Opera to ash. If Philippe was agile and quick, he would manage to single-handedly disarm the Phantom.

Seeing the open lair again told Philippe that he had gone too far. Turning back, he saw that the glow from the water lit up most of the passage way and illuminated the sold wall at the other end. There was no other way to go.

This was not possible! The first room at the end of the stairs cold not have been that large since he had so quickly and painfully discovered the side wall. It would not have had the capacity for all of the gunpowder barrels.

Fear and realization dawned on Philippe. He must have moved them. Despair crept in on his as well. Now his hopes to eliminate the Phantom's stronghold on the Opera were more powerfully dashed. There was little else he could do without the expense to Christine's safety.

Where were they now?

There was only so much ground to store so much explosive powder.

Then it hit him. Suppose they had been taken to the bottom of another building! What then? More innocent used as collateral for the Phantom's greed? It was not inconceivable and that was what Philippe feared most.

The speculations made his blood run hard through his chilled skin. Philippe made his way back up to the surface with heavy but swift steps. There was no way to tell where the barrels were now that they had been moved but Philippe's initial plan still applied. He realized now that he had to work on a larger scale.

Philippe returned to the main ground and hired his coach. In the morning he would seek out the keeper of the Opera's records. He would need a blueprint of the lower levels.

As the door to Philippe's carriage was shut behind him, the barrels of gun powder he had been searching for still bobbed in the water of the underground lake, most of them shrouded by shadows from cast by the cavern walls. As on barrel floated aimlessly by, bumping against the stern of the dragon gondola, a very perplexed Erik looked out over the water and cursed.

**Hello all! I apologize for my tardiness in getting this chapter to you. I really struggled with it an in the end cut it down in length to keep it more organized and at least put something up for you. I want to keep the ball rolling. As always I encourage you all to leave me your feedback and feel free to leave me your opinions of my characters and what they are going through. I also encourage you to check out and review my recently posted oneshot called **_**Special Guest**_**. Keep reading and keep leaving me your feedback. It keeps the muse motivated and happy and your author happier. One of my favorite things is hearing back from my readers because it gives me ideas of where to go next and how to improve my writing. Thank you from your humble writer. **


	10. For Once

"All He Needs"

By: TheBatgirl31

Chapter 10: For Once

Sing for me. And I will let you go as you please.

Sing for me and I will forget you ever saw my face.

Sing for me and I will forget you ever saw my face. He had remained maskless all the while they sat there. Without a mask he could only hold her gaze for a few moments before looking away but that had not inhibited the intensity with which he spoke. How could she forget that face? Again she realized how silent she had been.

It all went back to the forest. That broken moment where Erik had changed. Philippe's insistence and refusal to head her words, Erik's dark, menacing alter-self which combatted the warmth of the person she had slowly seen emerge. She had been silent to both of them but no longer.

One worry rode on the back of her growing will power and frustration and it made her resolve weaken slightly. What would happen after she sang? Erik was willing to let her return above but where would that leave them? What did it all mean? The strings of this new love she felt for her maestro had been pulled and stretched beyond the limits of human endurance for the past few days and Christine could no longer bear it. She had felt love for him at the sight of his bare face in the forest. That same love had maintained throughout, though muffled in their long, bitter discussion which had gotten them nowhere. Erik's fate and Gerard's warnings were addressed and dismissed, she had seen a dangerous fire explode within him and yet she was still reveling in his tender touch. The way he had held her after falling in the lake, the gentle ghost of his fingers on her cheeks near the warm, flickering fireplace. Whenever he was near, he wanted to be close enough to touch. Christine let her eyes flutter shut for a moment and remembered the taste of his kiss. It had not faded on her lips.

Erik had returned her to the little room overlooking the lake and left her to change. The dress he had left on the mannequin was now crunchy and hard from her dip in the water so he told her to check the large, wooden wardrobe for a fresh dress. Christine opened the tall doors and marveled at the variety of colored fabrics before her. One particular shade of blue caught her eye and she held it up to examine it in the light. It was a soft, sapphire blue that reminded her of a sky she had not seen in quite some time. It fit her like skin and she adored the softness of skirt. The sleeves were sheer with lace flowers at the elbows and the top curved into her waist and flowed outward at the bottom. She smiled and decided to go sit at her window.

The caverns were quiet. The lake was still and there was no music. Christine wondered where Erik had gone and sighed. There was so much to be said and she was unsure how to begin. Resting her chin in her palm, Christine stared out of the little window and stared at nothing in particular. Instead, she closed her eyes and images of Erik's maskless face danced in front of her. She hoped that when the time came, the strength she now felt would not elude her and she would be able to tell him how much she felt.

Erik had left Christine in her room to allow himself time to freshen up. The thought of cool water on his face sounded like heaven to him and the mucky, lingering feeling of sweat on his shirt and trousers was wretched. He pictured the fresh clothes waiting for him after a quick rinse, but first, there was a serious matter to attend to.

The bobbling barrels had not waded into the main chamber just yet but the slow current would soon bring them into view. Erik grabbed the oar from the gondola and used it to pull and prod the barrels closer to the shore so he could collect them. Erik piled them up back up against the far wall but removed the cork seals to release and water that may have strayed in. Each wooden container was no sodden, as well were their contents. The gunpowder was soaked and, therefore, rendered useless. Erik cursed whatever force which had knocked them into the water. He did not put great thought as to who it had been since rats had always been crawling around the basements and he assumed they had tried to chew into one of the barrels in search of food and knocked the stack over. In the back of his mind he entertained the thought that the Count could have caused such a mess but dismissed it. The part of the cavern where they had been stored was quite dark. Erik was sure he would have run into the culprit stumbling to find their way out with no aid of light.

The loss of the gunpowder did not worry Erik. Though the animosity still fueled his previous threat to the Count, with the new plans for Christine's second debut Erik's motives had switched and now focused on ensuring that Christine would be ready for the stage again. There would be no accidents this time.

Satisfied that he had removed all of the barrels, Erik went to his hidden bedchamber to freshen up. His room was simple compared to the adornments he had furnished for Christine. The bed up on the landing overlooking the entire lagoon had been Erik's favorite place to rest, though his sleeping pattern was often in reverse due to his greater ability to roam at night. When Christine had become his pupil he had always secretly hoped that she would one day be a visitor to his home and so took to furnishing that room with a wardrobe, filled it with tailored clothing, and acquired odds and ends such as a brush, comb, slippers, and extra blankets to make her feel comfortable. Since then, he had left it unoccupied in wait for the day she agreed to be his guest and he had taken to sleeping in his other private quarters.

It was a dark room with many candles to offer light. The walls were stone and a red carpet lined the chilly floors. There were meager accommodations in this room as compared to what was now Christine's room. There was a very small bed, nearly half the size of the other, long and narrow with a small canopy hanging from the ceiling. There was a smaller, adjoining room which served as his bathroom. A silver tub with pointed feet sat in one corner and a small shelf of towels on the other. There was no mirror in either room. There was a long chain dangling over the tub from the ceiling. When Erik pulled it down it opened a small drain which he had opened on the main water line through the various piping trails under the Opera House, releasing clear water to pour into the tub for a quick rinse.

Due to the frigid temperatures at this level of the caverns the water was near freezing but Erik had learned that placing candles on the floor at the base of the tub warmed the water enough to sit in. Erik pulled his arms out of the sleeves of his shirt first and tossed it aside. The muscles on his chest were tense and his strong arms clenched at the feel of the chilly air. He removed his trousers and shoes, kicking them aside carelessly. Standing bare before the tub, waiting for it to be warm, Erik removed his mask and placed it on the pile of towels across from the tub. The air felt good on his sweaty face and did not mind the cold as much suddenly. Dropping his foot into the water, Erik hissed as he slowly eased himself in. It was still cold but was becoming warm. He let his eyes close for a moment and the agonizing thoughts that entered his mind made him press his pals tightly against his eyes and sigh deeply in frustration. Moments of the past days flying before him and he felt great shame in remembering his quick-tempered and unrestrained fury.

Gerard came to mind and he felt sorrowful. He was greatly appreciative to the man who had helped him build all that surrounded him, replicating as many comforts from aboveground as he could to make Erik a home. All of those years playing the part of the Opera Ghost's confidant and now it was all over. For all he knew Gerard had gone on to begin his retirement. Why shouldn't he have? Erik had given him no reason to stay. More thoughts of the pistol in his hand and Erik groaned distastefully.

Then there was Christine. Erik stared into space as if her face hovered above him. Soon she would be gone and he would only hear her voice once more. She would be swept away by the Count who was unlimited in both wealth and in beauty. He could provide for her and so Erik knew, since the moment he had heard the boys voice in the forest, the hope of gaining Christine's love dashed, that he could never tire of her angelic voice but she would soon tire of being hidden from the world with him and so her love would always be filled with a somber longing that he could not satisfy.

How he hated the boy! His voice filled Erik's stomach with a twisting nausea and Erik had to dig his palms into his temples to erase the plaguing thought that one day they would be married and Christine would be gone.

Erik grunted with the effort of erasing the image and crushed his eyes shut until a new image appeared before him. He was still in the bath with his hands over his face, and soon there was a gentle touch on his wrists, pulling his hands away to see. Christine was kneeling beside the tub and wrapped her fingers with his. She smiled warmly at him and kissed his fingertips. Erik felt no shame in her seeing him completely bared now. She had seen his face and so the rest of his body was no mystery. She had seen the ultimate ugliness. Erik watched her as each fingertip went to her lips and remembered how it had felt before. The taste of her lips, warm and soothing like an oil with a rose scent from her hair. Christine stood, releasing his hand, and he now saw she was wearing a dressing gown tied at the waist. Her hands untied the knot and everything else was a blur. He felt her everywhere. The feel of her lips and the fullness of her body pressed against him was almost too much for Erik to absorb. He felt the air being crushed in his lungs and his heart beating wildly from the new passion and building of desires that would finally be explored. When suddenly, the image changed. Christine was lying on a bed with her hair tossed over her shoulder, moonlight beaming over her from a large window. A pair of arms entwined around her but they were not his. They belonged to the Count. She turned to kiss his lips and then they were shrouded in black. Erik was gasping for air and his eyes flew open, though the daunting daydream filled him with fire, causing him to jolt up in the tub and curse loudly with a great fury from hell.

Looking around, he saw that he was still in his bath, alone and the candles were dying, the water beginning to cool. Erik stepped out of the tub and hissed at the frigid air. He allowed Christine's song from before to calm him.

The eventual neglect of her voice stirred in Erik's heart even more. Such a perfect voice to go uncared for was unthinkable and Erik felt the bitterness rising in him as he pulled on fresh clothes after drying off. The image of Christine never left his mind and he became aware of an unexplained hunger.

A voice lesson. It had been some time since their formal lessons had resumed and Erik decided now was better than ever. Christine's voice needed to be refreshed. As he made his way to her room, Erik felt an overwhelming need just to have her near.

At the sound of approaching footsteps Christine turned from the window and saw Erik emerge from the curtained doorway. He seemed different, more collected than he had seemed though she still sensed the tense and forced calm from him.

"I thought perhaps you might still want that voice lesson," Erik said and held out his hand.

He knew this had been a good idea and was thankful for it. Christine's smile was invaluable in this moment and she leapt up to follow him, entwining her hands on his arm and beaming up at him. He put one hand over both of hers and led her out.

They did not go to their usual spot. Erik's organ down below would have to suffice. Prying eyes and ears above would not be wise to trust under the circumstances. Erik sat at his stool and Christine stood at the side, her hand on the keyboard edge.

"I think we'll have to start with the scales today. I'm afraid we have neglected them for some time," Erik said, his voice taking on every bit of the teacher and instructor.

Christine nodded and straightened her posture. Erik smiled. "Very good."

It began as it always had: The scales to test and tone her ranges with the occasional repeat to ensure her regularity and confidence. Erik nodded in approval as she flew through their final exercises and then paused, wondering where to carry on.

"Hmm-I'm curious as to whether we should keep practicing with something you are familiar with or move on to something new."

Christine was intrigued. "I would like to try something new, if you thought me ready, Maestro. "

Erik tensed slightly. He much preferred her to use his name now but pushed past it

"You most certainly are," he said, leaning over the keyboard and smiling warmly and confidently. Christine returned it. "But for today, lets run through a short solo and I will have the new music ready for tomorrow."

Erik spoke his decision as he steadied new music on his stand and reminded her of a particular set of bars where she had often missed the crescendo. Christine nodded but she spoke out and interrupted his first keys.

"What new song do you have in mind for me?" she asked.

Erik was silent for a moment then answered rather nonchalantly, "The song I wish for you to sing for _me_."

Christine was silent and her hands gripped the sides of the organ tightly, her face suddenly feeling hot. The same flood of thoughts she had had before were now flashing through her mind again only now at a much quicker pace and with more intensity.

The song she would sing for him and then that would be all.

Christine was silent and didn't notice when he struck the first chords to begin. She did not notice when he stared at her and waited curiously for her to respond. It felt like she was standing at the edge of a large cliff and was not sure if she should jump or stay silent and remain on solid ground. What she wished to say would be like jumping; to break that barrier of understand that they had unspokenly been respecting would throw both their worlds into chaos. The memory of the forest had been hovering between them but there was no understanding in it. He had revealed his face again to her but it had not been the same. In the forest, he had trusted her, been willing to share with her his most intimate and guarded secret. When she had seen his face for the second time in the light of the fire, Erik had been unwilling, tense, and frightened. He had shown himself to her as an ultimatum and to set in motion what he felt was to happen. His face was the deciding factor for everything including whatever was to become of her. Christine would not accept that.

Truthfully, the misshapen and scarred skin had shocked her. No image she could have conjured up in her mind would have been comparable to what she had really seen and felt. Her heart cried for the warm man who felt ruined by such an unfortunate mark of nature. The words he chose for himself were a reflection of all the hatred and ugliness the world had shown him, unwilling to spare him any kindness. For Christine, however, the ugliness did not show in his face. She knew and had now seen first hand that Erik could act without a heart and could show just as much hatred out as he had taken in. But he could love and knew that his heart would always go to her, even if she would have to convince him that the world deserved some of his love as well since it was home to the things he too loved dearly.

But none of that would matter. She would be pushed from his path and into a fine carriage with Philippe, and then who knew: into a few starring roles on stage until she took on the roles of motherhood, and finally into a grave somewhere near her father after a lifetime of routine and security. Christine had never known security. Everything had always changed for her. Suddenly, a life of predictability was not as becoming to her as it may have been before she had come to Paris. Before she had met Erik.

With thoughts of her future came thoughts of his and she grew sadder and more frightened. Where would he be when she ended her song? A lifetime of never knowing where he was or if he was well, if he was alone. She shut her eyes at the thought and let out a deep breath that made her entire chest deflate. When she opened her eyes Erik was watching her. She met his eyes boldly for a brief moment before turning away to stare at her hands. His eyes made her feel exposed even though he knew nothing. Nothing. He knew nothing of anything she felt. Breath seemed to gather in her chest and the tightness she felt pushing against her heart made her stiffen and yet still uncertain, like a wall made of straws but with a foundation of brick. The words were coming to her now and she was not sure she would stop them now. If he did not understand after today he never would.

"Christine," Erik probed for a third time. She had not heard him before.

"I'm sorry," she said meeting his eyes again, "It's just-I must speak with you about something."

Erik was silent. His raised eyebrows encouraged her to go on.

"It's the song you wish me to sing."

To her surprise, Erik smiled, accompanied by an amused chuckle. "Now, Christine, you should at least hear my selection before you decide to dislike it. I promise it is quite suitable."

Erik straightened a sheet of paper on the stand and was about to play the opening notes again but, before his fingers found the correct keys, Christine had thrown the sheets of music off the stand and onto the floor.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of paper waving in the air on its way to the floor and then nothing.

Erik stared at her, Christine's eyes full of anger. He could not ever recall seeing her so upset. Her usual calm, complacent, and smiling features were rigid and clenched, her eyes narrowed to slits. Worst of all, she had never disrupted their lessons with such an outburst. Erik was unsure how to proceed, caught completely off guard and almost helpless. He stared and waited for her to speak.

Christine waited to catch her breath before she spoke. She cursed her eyes because she could already feel the angry tears brimming her eyes and she knew that if they broke her now she would never be able to finish a single sentence before collapsing in a nervous, miserable heap.

"Why?

**I'm as sorry for this cliffhanger as I am for my long absence. I hope you all are still willing to bear with me and my writing hiatus has not put you off. As always I am dedicated to this story and I am always working to find time to continue it. More to come. And as always, feedback is encouraged and appreciated. Taking time out of your day to leave me a review means a great deal and it makes me more excited to write more. **


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